“Some of them, yes, but most of them were rather predictable.”
“Am I predictable?”
“No,” she laughed before suddenly turning serious. “What are you afraid of?”
The question caught me off guard, but I thought for a few seconds before answering.
“Losing control of myself. In work, life, love, anything,” I answered honestly, just as her fingers tightened slightly against my shoulder.
“I’m afraid of being swallowed,” she said quietly.
“By me?”
“By anything.”
“You won’t be.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“How?”
“Because you fight too much.”
She laughed openly then, and the sound hit me harder than it should have. I had not heard her laugh like that since before the marriage and the penthouse. Before everything became strategy, and the sound of it did something to my chest. Something unfamiliar.
“Do you like music?” she asked, clearly full of questions.
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Classical.”
She raised a brow. “Predictable.”
“It’s controlled.”
“Of course it is.”
“And you?”
“Anything loud.”
“That contradicts your design aesthetic.”
“No. It fuels it. Even though my designs might look rather subtle to the human eye, they are anything but simple or subtle. They are quietly loud in their own way. Once my collection is complete, you will understand this better.”
She stepped closer as the dance tightened.
“What do you dislike?” she asked.
“Cowardice and disorder.”
“That explains the penthouse.”
“Yes.”
