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“Promise us you won’t hurt Talis, and you can stay here tonight, ask your questions in the morning after he’s rested,” The Prince demands.
I force myself to my feet with a cringe. “I won’t hurt him tonight,” I promise —and why would I? I can’t get answers from a dead man.I focus my anger on The Princess, and when our gazes meet, there’s only hatred between us.
“Then I’m staying too,” she says. “There’s no way I’m leaving you two here with Talis alone.”
“I would never hurt him,” The Prince snarls.
“And you once said you’d never hurt me,” she snarls back. Then she rubs the spot on her head where he grasped her hair. “Yet here we are.”
The Prince looks down, the muscles along his jaw flaring with hurt and irritation.
I look between them, and I know there’s so much going unsaid.It doesn’t matter, I tell myself, and I move to one of two chairs by a stunning black marble piano. I sit and ignore the Bosses, taking in the room for everything that it is.
Talis lays upon a massive bed doused in crushed black velvet. The walls are a white glossed brick, and the floors match in a pearl tile. A beautiful chandelier dangles from the center of the room, its crystals sparkling as they glint off the orange-hued lights set within them. The room feels well-lived in but also oozes wealth.
My eyes find the wardrobe left open on the far wall, and I spot several crisply pressed suits. I’m surprised to find quite a few dress shirts, and I wonder if I’m staring at the closet of the man behind the mask, as opposed to the Boss. My eyes drift to his bare chest, and as I tilt my head up, I find him staring at me intently.
My fingers dig into the arms of the chair as my pulse ricochets.
The cut on his cheek spills more blood than before, and I inhale sharply as the need to help him stomps out all my other feelings.
“Do you have a sewing kit?” I ask him, my voice quiet and —fuck, are those nerves? I bite my lip.
His eyes fall to my mouth, and he inhales sharply before he nods to the bathroom. “In there. The medicine cabinet.”
I shove the heat building inside me into a place so dark and cold, I hope it can’t survive. Then I pull myself out of the chair and cross to the bathroom, my stilettos clicking as I go. My eyes widen as I take the bathroom in with its gleaming marble sinks, double waterfall shower, and large Jacuzzi tub. Plush black towels hang off hooks here and there, and I have the sudden urge to grab them all, throw them into a pile, and curl up in them.
A rough hand grazes my shoulder, right along my dress’s strap, and I shiver as The Prince draws up behind me. He leans into me as he reaches past my shoulder to a small cabinet and pops it open.
I can’t help but lean back into him, but I immediately regret it as I feel how every inch of my soft curves fit so perfectly with the hardness of his body. I take a stern step forward, leaving his warmth as he pulls a clear box from the cabinet and sets it next to the sink.
I snatch it and flip its lid open, finding the needle and thread. I wet my lips and glance up at him, then force myself to look only at his wound. “Sit on the edge of the bathtub,” I say, turning away from him and threading the needle.
He silently moves and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees and staring at the floor.
I watch him for a second, the quiet heave of his shoulders. A flutter sprouts through my stomach as I settle next to him. I wait a moment, expecting him to lift his face toward me so I can stitch his wound.
Instead, he keeps his gaze focused firmly on the floor.
I tighten my grip on the needle. “Are you…” I cringe and clear my throat. “Are you okay?”
His jaw ticks. “No, Zora. Definitely not.”
“Er, well, I need to stitch you up.”
He twirls his thumbs.
I frown. “You’re going to need to look at me if you don’t want me to botch stitching that gash together.”
He blows out a long, uneven breath.
“What’s wrong with you?” I snap, growing impatient.
He holds out his hand. “Just give me the needle. I’ll do it myself.”
“Don’t be stupid. It will be a cleaner stitch if I do it for you.”
“I can’t look at you again.”
