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Have I used the wrong blend of waxes? Or do I need to use a different seal? None of the implements are quite right for the task but that’s why I’m here, I suppose. I have used the scoops and blades and a tiny blowtorch to craft the impression of a crown in wax, the Tunisian royal insignia.
But there is something different between the seal and the picture I have on my phone. And it’s driving me crazy trying to figure it out.
“Take a break.”
Hades’ sudden and unexpected nearness practically makes me jump out of my skin. I dart a glance at him, startled. He stands less than a foot away, a brow arched, holding two white paper cups.
My eye catches on the way his black button up gapes at the collar, two black buttons undone. For some reason that small lapse — either intentionally done or not — makes my cheeks fill with heat. I jerk my eyes away and touch my messy bun.
“What?” I ask.
His expression gives away exactly nothing. He lifts a cup, offering it to me. I stand up, moving a few inches closer and accepting the cup.
“Come on.” He jerks his head toward the door. “Let’s walk outside for a minute. I’ve bought sandwiches.”
I pause, casting a glance over my shoulder at my work. It’s not going anywhere, of course. I know that.
But my brain is still stuck on the same question. What is it about that seal that’s inauthentic?
Other than the fact that I am trying to replicate it in a darkened warehouse hundreds of miles away from Tunisia, of course. I wrinkle my nose and sigh.
“Okay.”
Hades reaches for my elbow, thinking I guess to steer me out of the warehouse. But I shoot him a sharp glance, just shy of a glare, and sidestep him altogether. He lets me lead the way outside without comment, but I can feel his heavy gaze on the back of my neck as I roll aside the heavy warehouse door.
I suppress a sigh and walk outside into the dying heat of the day. It’s nearly twilight, the sun drunkenly beginning to disappear behind the broad sweep of the azure ocean. The breeze picks up as I walk toward the shore, breaking what was probably an unbearable heat. I wouldn’t know, as I was utterly absorbed in my work all day.
Hades sips his coffee, watching me out of the corner of his eye. I suck in a deep breath and taste the drink he brought me.
To my surprise, it is a creamy, milky chai latte. I tip the paper cup up and chug a little, realizing only now that it’s been forever since I have eaten or drunk anything.
He doubles down, pulling a paper bag from his pocket and offering me a piece of baguette layered with cheese and butter. I walk along the shore, practically inhaling half the sandwich and chasing it with the sweet spice of the latte.
The wind picks up, clawing at my dress, whipping the waves into a froth. My footsteps sink into the sandy shore as I walk down to where the waves crash onto the beach, skittering up the already wet ground until it just reaches my feet.
I take another bite of the sandwich and mmm a little, appreciating how buttery and cheesy it is.
“Like that, do ye?” Hades asks.
I slice him with a glance. I finish chewing, swallow, and then retort.
“I’m sorry. Did I miss something? The last time I checked, we were not exactly on speaking terms.”
He glares at me. “That was certainly not my intention. I just wanted to make sure that we were both on the same page about… what happened.”
“What happened,” I repeat, my voice sharp. “You mean how you fucked me and then acted like I went out of my way to personally harm you?”
His brow descends. “Dinnae be a child.”
“I would say I have acted completely appropriately, and you are the one being a little kid about this whole thing.” I smack my lips, glancing out over the coast. “We’re both consenting adults. We both?— “
The words snarl up in my mouth, stopped by what I see just up the shoreline. A few hundred feet down was an old parking lot, its pavement crumbling, its markings all but faded. A cheap little car stands there, its hood raised. A young man dressed in an expensive-looking outfit of designer denim and a Supreme hoodie leans over the engine, barking orders at a very young woman. The woman can’t be more than eighteen and wears a long, pink halter dress that falls to her sandaled feet. She looks terrified, nodding and jumping every time that the man barks something at her in a language I don’t understand.
Pressed against the woman’s legs are two children, girls that are maybe four and two, respectively. They are dressed in matching pink sweatsuits and they look at the man with something like terror written on their faces.
I don’t even have to say anything. Hades tenses, his hands curling into fists as he watches the scene for a few seconds. I watch the play of emotions as they filter to the surface; right now, it is easy enough to read Hades’ expression.
He’s near-violent, just watching this little operetta play out. The young man closes the hood of the car with a slam and points at the woman. Even from here, I can make out his vehement, angry words.
