“You areunderminingme.”
“You think too highly of yourself,” I laughed, stepping toward her. “I am investing in you.”
“You are trying to make it seem like I am some object to you now.” She took a step away from me, but I stepped closer.
She backed into a tree along the pathway, but my pursuit didn’t stop until I hovered over her.
“Has it ever occurred to you,” I lowered my face to hers, making sure she was looking at me, “that I show you off because I am proud of you?”
I could see her pulse jump by the throbbing of her jugular. I could smell the change in her blood sugar just from those simple words. I had a feeling she didn’t hear those words often.
“Iamproud of you,” I repeated. “You could be made of stars the way you outshine everyone around you, including myself. I am simply happy to be bathed in the light.” I cupped her face with both of my hands. “Do you understand me, now?”
“You don’treallybelieve that.”
“You deserve all of the attention this world can afford.”
“I don’t believe you?—”
“If I could change true north to wherever you stood, I would do it.”
“How do I know I am not just food to you?” she snapped, placing her palms on my chest, but it wouldn’t stop me from holding her.
“If you were food, I would treat you like food,” I breathed. “I clothe you, feed you, adorn you, fawn over you, and you think that I only see you as food?”
“You have a need to control.”
“We both know there is no controlling you; I gave up on that long ago.” I laughed. “I don’t want you under my boot, Alina, I want you in my arms.”
“I’m going home.” She nearly slipped from my grasp, my fingers clasping with hers in one last attempt to keep her.
The shock on her face at seeing our entwined fingers was more severe than when I had nearly killed her in that alleyway.
“Wait,” I begged. I didn’t understand why she still thought the worst of me. That could be my own fault. I hadn’t been fair to her. I didn’t know how else to prove to her that I was not trying to trick her. “We have one more place to go.”
38
THE CREATURE
The delicate scraping of porcelain among small chimes of cutlery greeted us upon arrival. I trusted the recommendation of Edith, who had given me an address and nothing more. It was a gamble, but I’m thankful I trusted her.
The grand, open room was full of fine dining and even finer guests. Pristine velvet, imported patterns, high thread counts—and that was only speaking of the furnishings. The people were dripping in pearls, emeralds, plated gold, and galvanizing colors.
None compared to the piece on my arm, just her hand could command the attention of a crowd without added finery.
I watched as Alina’s pupils dilated and constricted, flicking from detail to detail, ever calculating. As if this were some sort of trick, a playful illusion I had concocted to spite her. Her eyes were so bright, even in such dim lighting. She wore something nicer for our date underneath her cloak, a good sign, though it was still mourning attire. That meant there was at least some possibility she would be killing me tonight. I would try my luck anyway.
An attendant swept her cloak and muff away, as if they had just dusted something off.
I took her hand politely before leading her off to a table along the edge of the room, nestled beside a wall with a small lamp placed in the middle.
Above us, most of the ceiling was made of glass, a dome proudly protruding in the middle, like a conservatory.
She looked less impressed than I expected. The twitch of her brow, the unchanging expression, the hesitancy to touch anything other than her own skirts. Something was on her mind.
“Have you abandoned your typical courting routine of breaking into my rooms or a light attempt at stalking?” she said plainly, and just the inflection made me laugh.
I pulled out her chair behind her, speaking beside her ear. “I’m adaptable.”
