Before the idea has a chance to marinate, he lets my hair slip from his fingers and says something…stupid. “Become mine, Azalea, my darling little dove.” Something not unlike the bedroom gleams I saw in the dating sims I played last night takes hold of him. “I should like to own you more completely.”
Huh?
That…
Isn’t hatred at all, is it?
That…actually sounds more like…
The scripts from those horrible sims.
Sickness swells as I realize what’s happened. When I said I couldn’t tell him how I felt, he assumed my feelings werenot safe for workin a different kind of way.
And that different kind of way…is whathefeels.
My stomach curdles as my flesh goes cold. Terror grips my nerves in an icy claw. Surely I’m confused. Surely he doesn’t mean to imply he’s attracted to me. Aftereverythinghe’s put me through, there’s no way he’d beattractedto me.
Wait. No.
No, no, no.Please.
Don’t tell me.
There was thatonesim I turned off because I couldn’t handle the storyline. It involved abuse mixed with romance, andhorrifiedcannot begin to describe what I felt as the premise became clear.
Pleasetell me that’s not what’s happening right now.Pleasetell me Malcolm doesn’t think I’m a little, doe-eyed freak who likes the maltreatment he dishes out.
Heart in my throat, I whisper, “What…are you saying, exactly?”
Bracing his arm against the cushions beside us, he settles his chin in his palm. “Go out with me.”
Fright spears me.
This can’t be happening.
After Junction just told me to seduce and date him, he’s propositioning me himself. That’s suspicious. Unbelievably suspicious. There’s no way it’s a coincidence, is there? But there’s also no way he couldknowwhat I’m planning, right?
I’m probably paranoid.
Of course I’mparanoid.
Most days, I’m so paranoid I can barely feed myself.
If there’s anything I’m known for, it’s paranoia.
Mouth dry, I say, “You want to date me?”
“Yes.”
“Ah…” I search his steady smile. “I’m so sorry. I must be confused. Is this a romantic inquiry?”
He laughs. “More like a romantic command. I don’t recall serving a question on my end.”
“Right.” Because why would he? “Okay.” No, not okay. This still doesn’t make any sense. The first step of my assassination career can’t all be falling into my lap. I’ve done no seduction. I’ve made zero effort. And I really, really,reallydo not understand what’s going on. “To what end, exactly?”
He lifts a brow. “To no end. You become mine. In every way. Forever.”
I stare at him while he describes my personal version of heck. “So you’re suggesting a life sentence?” Don’t normal people have a different word for that? And isn’t it… “Marriage?”
