My stomach knots. “No…I don’t…want that.”
“How about you make yourself your dinner, and I’ll make myself my dinner, and we share a few bites?”
Eyeing him, I angle my body as far away from him as I can. “I don’t think I’ve liked a single thing you’ve said today.” Or yesterday. Orever, actually.
He pets the little head of his crow. “But I saidI dotoday.”
“Yes. Precisely. Not a single likeable word has exited your person within roughly the past twenty-four hours.” Give or take two years.
Laughing, he cages his mouth in his hand, and I swear his eyes are twinkling. “What an unkind thing to say to your husband.”
I shudder at the very thought, then fight down nausea when I recall it’s notmerelya thought but rather the unfortunate reality. “I think,” I whisper, “that I’d like to wake up now. This nightmare is bad for my mental health.”
“Should we share a bed tonight?”
My stomach riles, and I try to escape the car.
Fluidly, he locks the door on me, and I can’t figure out how to manually unlock it again before he says, “Not likethat, dove dear. I’m not an animal with only one thing on his mind… I’ma sophisticated human being. With thoughts of torture titillating my psyche.”
“Let me out.” I whimper. “I want off the ride.”
His fingers flutter through my hair, sending shivers coursing down my spine. “You’re really cute when you’re grappling with the consequences of your own actions.”
Sniffling, I shoot a disapproving look at him over my shoulder, lip jutted.
In case anyone didn’t know,thisis why we don’t twirl our hair and delude ourselves into thinking we can play on a level field with monsters. After all, what are a few little failed murder attempts compared towhatever this is? We are not the same. We have never been the same. I’m an inept amateur, and he’s an expert.
In fact, if he’s an example of a regular human being, someone should saint me.
“When are you going to file for divorce?” I ask.
Humming, he offers me the little black bird once again. “Never.”
“But—”
“I love you.” He carefully slips my white bird free, replacing it with the dark one. “I love you to the point of madness. I wasn’t expecting you to marry me so soon, but I’d even considered a possibility that, if Ivy were willing to share his Flag Day ball, I might be able to give you the ultimatum that youcouldwear white, so long as you were marrying me. I believe I did tell you in our first relationship discussion that I wanted to marry you. Marrying you has been in the plans for quite some time, Azalea.”
Theplans? What, pray tell, is he even talking about?
My nose wrinkles. “Ultimatums. Blackmail. Coercion. How exactly is the way you treat me anything likelove?”
Tenderly, he peers at the little ceramic dove in his palms. “Would you prefer me on my knees?” He blinks. “Oh wait.” Hisattention hits me. “I am on my knees for you. Regularly.” He settles the little bird in his lap and shifts the SUV into reverse so he can pull out of the parking space in front of the mall. “Face it, dove, I love you like a villain. If you want a hero, kindly reassess your tastes.”
“I don’t want a hero,” I state. “I want…” My mind blanks, because I’ve never actually given it any thought before. If I’ve ever wanted anything, I’ve quickly abandoned it. Because. How would I make it work? When I’m…
Dropping my gaze, I look at the dark bird in my lap, pillowed in the sea of my white skirt, pressed against my bleached gloves.
…like this.
Why want what I know I can’t have, right?
My little dating sims are the closest I’ve ever let myself get to the illusion of being loved.
Maybe it’s safe to say I don’t actually know a thing about it. Maybe it can look different for different people. And maybe all that matters is whether or not it feels like enough for the people involved.
“You want…?” Malcolm prompts, tone open and suggestive in a way that implies he’s ready and willing to give me anything at all.
“I don’t…know.” I hug the little crow. “Someone I can trust. At the very least.”
