Page 73 of The Bargain

I put my hand in his, and interlace our fingers—a silent reassurance.

Mrs Pearson’s eyes never leave mine. “Gratitude is such a rare quality these days, but Elias has learned that everything worth having must be earned.” She fixes him with a heavy look. “Haven’t you, dear?”

Elias doesn’t answer, but his throat moves, his stillness the only reply.

“After all,” Mrs Pearson continues lightly, “I’m sure he wouldn’t want to disappoint those who’ve gone to such lengths on his behalf.”

“He won’t,” I say.

A quiet, deliberate beat.

“You’ll find that my parents’ donation has already matched your fundraising goal for the night.”

I pause and wait for them to interrupt again, but this time, they don’t. All I hear is the tiny hitch of Elias’s breath at my side, his tremor of surprise against my fingers.

Mrs Pearson blinks. The smile remains, but the colour has drained from her face.

“That’s… extraordinarily generous,” she says after a moment of brittle silence.

“That’s why I thought it was safe to assume Elias and I could leave. Staying to drink champagne and make speeches would feel too much like self-indulgence, don’t you think?”

Mrs Pearson watches my face—and if I had been anyone’s daughter but my own parents’, I might’ve cowered. But my mother is Sophie Sutton-Knight, and if anyone thinks they can intimidate me, they’ve clearly not met her.

Finally, Mrs Pearson’s smile flickers back onto her face. She nods in the direction of her husband, and his hand slides away from Elias’s shoulder and drops uselessly down to his side.

“It was a pleasure to meet you both,” I tell them. “I hope this event was everything you hoped it would be.”

And then I turn, Elias’s fingers still laced through mine—his presence a silent, laughing shadow at my side. As we walk away, crystal lights fracture over the marble floor.

For a moment, his shadow and mine look indistinguishable.

28

Silver Raindrop

Elias

As we emerge onto the glistening central London street, Desdemona seems almost incandescent with inner light. She’s restless, practically vibrating, a strange energy trapped inside her skin that makes her seem almost supernatural.

Her appearance remains flawless: her blue dress taking on an azure tint under the night sky and gold lamplight, her hair still swept and curved into its elegant shell-like updo. But her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are bright. She drags me forward by my hand, out of the hotel lobby and through the gilded doors, down the street.

“Your coat—” I start saying.

“I’m not cold.”

I open my mouth to speak, but Desdemona throws an arm around my neck, dragging my mouth down to hers. She kisses me deep and hard, sweetness and hunger all mingled. Her mouth is hot, and when I press a thumb into her jaw, she obeys the silent command, opening her mouth to my deepening kiss.

By the time we pull away, we’re both breathless and shivering. The night is crisp with cold, and there’s a heaviness in the air heralding a coming storm. Beneath our feet, the pavement is glossy with fresh rainfall, black cabs splashing noisily past.

“You didn’t need to ask your parents to make a donation, you know.”

My voice comes out hoarse, but Desdemona shakes her head imperiously. “It was my choice to ask them, and their choice to do it. Nothing at all to do with you.”

Beautiful liar. “No?”

“No. Come on.”

She turns and tries to walk away, but I tug on her hand, stopping her.