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I push in her chair for her, and as she rests her arms on the table, I grab the dangling tag. I tear it off with a sharp, satisfying snap and let it fall to the floor between us.

“Looks like it’s yours now.”

I take my seat across from her and thank the gods I’m close enough to see the freckles that splatter her face. I’m close enough to count her eyelashes if I wanted to torture myself by staring into eyes that I can’t yet claim.

Finally, those greens come up to meet my stare.

“You look nice too,” she says, syrupy with sarcasm as she gestures at my charcoal suit. “You know, for a monster.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Takes one to know one, darling.”

She lifts her wine glass, studying the deep red liquid, as if she’s checking to see if I’ve poisoned it. When she takes a sip, her wet lips wrap around the crystal rim, and I have to force myself to look away.

“You know, I don’t want to be here, but since I’m being forced, I thought we could get to know each other a little better.” I nod in agreement. “So did you come straight out of the womb ready to kill?”

I do love that she doesn’t beat around the bush. I shake my head as I lean against the back of my chair.

“Always been a little possessive of the things and people I care about, sure. I wasn’t this way until I met you.”

She raises an eyebrow, mirroring how I leaned back. “You’re saying I turned you into a killer? And how did I do that?”

I take a sip of wine to buy myself a little bit of time. How can I explain it? How she somehow unraveled an entire lifetime of self-control and hard work with nothing more than a quiet laugh. Watching her pretend to be happy when I could see the sadness deep in her eyes is what drove me to madness.

“You were off-limits, I guess. You had a boyfriend and a seemingly perfect life from the outside. I tried—truly, I tried—to respect that. But then I saw you and Caleb fighting in your car once; I saw you flinch when he raised his voice and the fear you were trying to hide. It made me snap, and then I couldn’t stay away.”

The admission lingers around us, smoke circling our heads. I didn’t plan on being this honest with her right now. This environment and the way she’s looking at me is pulling it out of the box it had been locked in.

She stares at me for a long moment; I can’t tell what she’s thinking.

“You know, it wasn’t always that bad. We did have a perfect life for a little while—until I moved in and the drinking got worse and his jealousy went through the roof,” she tells me softly. I’m not sure why she’s sharing this with me, but I’m ready to accept it. I’ll take any glimpse into her life she’s willing to give me.

“The cracks formed; they weren’t fixable. Now here you are, sitting in front of me instead of him.”

“And here you are,” she counters, narrowing her eyes. “Romanticizing murder over shitty wine, pretending your life is some freaky-ass romance novel.”

The waiter appears silently, setting down our appetizers. I didn’t even order them; I’d left all the decisions to my personal chef, Blayze, trusting he’d choose the perfect meals for us. He vanishes as quickly as he came.

“You’re not afraid of me. Not really. Not like those girls in the books are.”

“No… but you are exactly who I should be afraid of. You’re literally committing murder and then inviting me out for dinner.”

I smile dryly, feeling very self-aware. “Nobody’s perfect.”

She adjusts her hair before grabbing a fork and knife. The dark strands of her hair fall in silky waves behind her shoulders. It’s almost feline.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” She pauses to take a bite of the mushroom brochette. She hums at the taste, nodding as she savors it. “Most men are running for the hills from damaged goods. And here you are, chasing me like you’re a desperate little boy.”

The comparison stings, but only because she’s not entirely wrong.

“I am desperate. But I don’t see damaged goods when I look at you. You’ve survived all of this and come out stronger.”

Her look suggests she wants to drive the knife in her hand into me and carve her name into my flesh. I’d let her if she wanted to.

“I’m not going to fall in love with you. Better you get that through your thick skull now. I want to end you for everything you’ve done.”

She parts her lips, as if she’s going to continue, but it falters. There’s a fuse just begging to be lit between us. Even the waiter who returns to replace our appetizers with the main course seems to feel it. His eyes flicker between us.

I hear her in my head: I want to destroy you. I pinch the stem of the wine glass between my fingers and raise it when we’re alone again.