“This is the best you could do?”
The fire I’d come to expect from her flared once more, flickering in those emerald eyes, and I couldn’t help but smile. "On such short notice..." I raised my hands in mock apology.
“Mhm.”
Her tears evaporated as quickly as they had arrived, replaced by the fierce glare that could burn through stone. She studied her reflection in the mirror, and I could feel her temper simmering just beneath the surface. It occurred to me that this was the only time she’d see herself like this. If I got my way and she broke her curse, I’d take her soul.
A sharp pain bloomed in my chest. Even I had to wonder if I was past that brand of cruelty. Could I take her soul when the time came?
I swallowed the thought and let the mask fall back into place. “Wrinkles and eye bags suit you,” I sneered.
“If you had a heart, I’d drive a knife through it.”
I tilted my head. “If I had a heart, I’d offer you my own blade.” My hand ran through my hair, the motion both casual and deliberate, drawing her attention. She muttered curses under her breath, a sound that brought an amused smile to my lips.
The corners of my mouth lifted, “Shall we, wife?”
I ignored her protest and took her hand, guiding her back up the aisle. She hesitated when we passed Phillips and Smith, both of whom were snoring with their chins tucked into their chests like caricatures of incompetence.
“Did you do that?”
“I did,” I responded, because there was no need to lie. We reached her row. Brett was unconscious too, phone still clutched in one limp hand. “Would you like me to wake them?” I asked, plucking the device from Brett’s fingers.
“No.”
I released her hand to pull her bags from the overhead compartment and she rubbed her palms against her jeans as if she was trying to scrape away the irritation building beneath her skin.
He enjoys this. Making me uncomfortable. That’s why he picked this disguise. Wrinkled hands. A limp. Even my sweatshirt smells like mothballs.
Not inaccurate. “To our seats,” I said aloud.
We moved slowly toward first class—our assigned seats sat empty, waiting. She tried not to stare, or look impressed, but as always she failed miserably.
“Only three hours left to go,” I said as I sat beside her.
“And then what?” She took the window seat, gaze already drifting to the clouds as I stowed her bag.
I unlocked Brett’s phone and pulled up the article she’d been running from. “They’ll soon discover that Elizabeth Rhodes doesn’t exist,” I said casually.
“Neither does Astoria Tempest,” she snapped.
I snorted and turned to her with a wide-eyed look. Her shame bloomed, hot and brittle. I could feel it crawling under her skin.
He sees right through me. Like I’m glass. Like I’m weak. I hate that.“It’s better this way,” she added, aloud this time. Trying to coat her fear in logic, she tucked her hand under her chin, eyes on the sun spilling gold over the clouds.
“Is it?” I asked. “Regina might have other thoughts. Her children. Her husband…”
“It was an accident.”
“No, Astoria.” I let her name settle in the space between us. “Accidents lack cause. You had both cause and intent.” Reaching for her hand again, I brushed my thumb over the back of it. She flinched, not from fear, but from the sheer indignity of being handled gently. “It was deliberate,” I said, quiet now. Not cruel. Just true.
She yanked her hand back and scowled. “She wasn’t supposed to be there.”
“And yet,” I said, leaning back with a smirk, “people rarely die on schedule. I should know.”
She went still.What happens if someone finds out who I really am?
“What is it you think will happen?” I asked.
