Outside, sunlight bled over a blacked-out Porsche Panamera parked at the base of the wide-spread staircase. The windows were tinted so dark they seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Alaric opened the passenger door himself.
He had come with no driver, and no guard, just him behind the wheel. Inside, the scent of him mingled with leather, everything understated in shades of black. He returned to the driver’s seat and waited for me to secure my seatbelt before starting the engine, which came to life with a quiet, controlled power.
I watched him navigate the streets the same way he seemed to apply to everything, as though disorder had never once breached his defenses. Everything blurred by outside the tinted glass.
The silence broke when he spoke again. "Saturday, the engagement becomes official through the proper channels. We should discuss the wedding date."
"Do you have a timeline in mind?" I asked.
"May would be ideal. Late spring suits you, and that’s enough time to select the venue, commission your gown..." His gaze slid sideways, and he flashed a sly smile "...and learn each other's secrets."
I studied his profile against the tinted window, searching for the trap beneath his words. "And I have input in these decisions?"
"You're to be my wife, Selene. Not my puppet.”
"How progressive," I murmured.
His slight smile felt like a test, a sliver of humor meant to gauge my reaction.
"You'd be surprised," Alaric replied as he navigated a turn. "I've found that the most valuable assets in any negotiation are those with minds of their own."
I shifted in my seat, the leather cool against my bare legs where her dress had ridden up. "Is that what I am to you? An asset?"
"Among other things."
We drove in silence for several minutes, the city flowing past in a blur of steel and glass. I watched his hands on the wheel—steady, controlled, a signet ring gleaming on his right hand. I found myself wondering what those hands would feel like against my skin, then immediately banished the thought.
“Why don’t you tell me about you, something other than what I already know.”
A simple request delivered like a command, gentle but unyielding, as if my answer was already his by right
I looked ahead; hands folded in my lap. “There isn’t much to tell you don’t already know. I like to read. I ride when I’m allowed. I’m fluent in a few languages and can recite half the Dominion charter from memory. You know all of that, though.”
He gave a quiet laugh, the kind that filled the space between words and stripped the armor right off them, glancing at me once more, amused. “You sound like a prisoner trying to make her sentence sound productive.”
“I’m not sure there’s much different between the two. I just happen to have a better mattress and fancy food.”
He didn’t look surprised. “That will change after today.”
I turned to him. “Will it?”
“Yes.” His tone made it sound less like a promise and more like an order issued to the universe. “And as you just said, I already knew all that, remember?” He angled his head slightly, offering the edge of a smile. "Tell me something real. What books do you actually enjoy?"
I hesitated. "They're not exactly on the literary canon. I read mostly on my phone now. I enjoy..." I paused, weighing the risk of honesty versus the cost of being caught in a lie. "R.L.Mathewson. Kresley Cole. Stephen King when I need something darker."
His face remained impassive.
"Paranormal romance. Horror. The occasional thriller," I added, as if clarifying might somehow make it less revealing.
He made a sound low in his throat, the corner of his mouth curving upward and his dimple appearing. "What else?"
"Does it really matter what I read?"
"Everything about you matters," he retorted simply. "I'm familiar with King. The others I'll discover. What is your favorite?”
I averted my eyes. "I don't remember."
He made a sound between a scoff and a laugh. "We'll need to work on your deception skills."
