He smiles, and its as soft as his eyes are wicked. “And you call me cruel,” he murmurs.
Because heis. He always has been. And heknowsit. Simmering with hatred, I hiss, “Do something permanent and irrevocable. Anyone, even you, can fake humility for a few moments to get what they want.”
“Permanent and irrevocable?” He chuckles. “That seems excessive.”
“Does it now? I want you disfigured for me. Only thenmightI be convinced.”
“My, my…” His face bleeds crimson, and insanity sparks in eyes surrounded by all the splotchy red. “I don’t know if it counts asdisfiguration…but…” He hooks his finger in his jet-black tie, tugs, and begins to undress in front of me. As his suit jacket and dress shirt come undone, my stomach swirls, then…I see it. Ink. Across his breast.
Gaping, I stare at the bird surrounded by flowers over his heart. Intrinsically, I know what kind both the bird and the flowers are.
“Is this permanent and irrevocable enough for you, my sweet Delaware white Azalea, my wonderfully precious little dove?”
My heart pounds in my skull. “You’re not…serious.”
“Fairly serious, I think. Permanent, too. One might even suggest the wordirrevocable.”
“That’s…definitely fake.”
“Please.” He spreads his arms, baring himself. “I’d enjoy every moment of you trying to scrub it off my skin. Shall I fetch your Lysol? Or would you rather have bleach?”
I cannot breathe.
His eyes glint. “Short of carving it out with a knife, though, I don’t think it’s going anywhere.”
This can’t be happening.
The man who’s been the bane of my existence for two years harbors some manner of twisted affection for me. Why is he telling me thisnow? It doesn’t make sense. Of all times to confess, why hours after I’ve been advised to date him? Why two days after I’ve agreed to kill him?
I should take advantage of this—Ineedto take advantage of this. Even if my head is spinning and I’m repulsed beyond words.
But doesn’t this make things more dangerous? If this tattoo is real, it’s already healed, so the timelines might be messy if they can trace a dove and azalea tattoo back to me, but…it still makes me nervous to be directly involved in his demise now.
Choked, I say, “I don’t trust you.”
“Who would?”
“IfI agree to go out with you, there will be rules.”
“Bind me with them. Nothing would be sweeter.”
“I don’t want whatever our relationship is to be public.”
He tilts his head. “That’s amiable. Publicity makes an awful mess of things. What else?”
“You are not allowed to touch me without permission.”
His arrogant smile spreads. “You must be real fun at parties.”
I wince. “Is consent a joke to you?”
“Yes. What else?”
“You must make an effort to be kind.”
He laughs.
“I mean it. If I can’t stand you, then there’s no way we’ll last long. And that’s not what you want, is it?”
