There he goes again. Faust always gets this certain tone when he starts questioning me—like, ah-ha, got you, cat-and-mouse games. Just didn’t think he’d start grilling when he should be rubbing elbows with literally the most powerful people on the planet.
“Sorry,” he says, holding out his hand. There’s a cocktail napkin in it. And… a small piece of toast. Or maybe shortbread? “Thought you might like to eat.”
Wary as ever, I eye his olive branch appetizer. “So, you saw the no-drink sign and thought, I must bring her a tiny piece of toast?”
He shoots me a half smile, smooth as waking up. “Have you eaten today?”
Faust is a kind man beneath the many, many layers of his gruff exterior. But he didn’t bring me a snack out of the goodness of his heart. Still suspicious, I take the napkin from him and examine the hors d’oeuvre. It is toast. With some sort of soft white cheese and…
Pomegranate.
My nose wrinkles as I attempt to not laugh. And I can feel Faust’s eyes on me, watching like always, watching for a single crack. “Funny,” I say, turning away from him so I can blush in peace.
There are footsteps to my right. Faust, stepping to stand beside me. “You aren’t going to eat it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Right. You said it was funny. Why’s that?”
“It’s a pomegranate seed, while you’re dressed like Hades.”
“Someone did their party research.”
“Actually, I read these things called books? They’re like Instagram captions, but bigger.”
“Do you think you’re Persephone, then?”
My eyes skip over to him, surprise skittering through my veins. But luckily, Faust is looking at the glassed exhibit in front of us. A statue of Athena stands under the single light, with her helmet on and her spear and shield in hand, draped in Paco Rabanne chain mail.
“It’s not romantic, Hades and Persephone. It’s a story of deception,” he says, and goose bumps flutter down my arms. “He tricks her into staying in his world.”
Something pulses in my stomach; my heartbeat, lower than usual.You don’t have to trick me.“This is a whole lot of conversation for a man who should be enjoying a cocktail hour at a very expensive and thoughtfully arranged table.” When our eyes lock, I give him a placating smile. “Don’t force me to drag you back inside.”
“You wouldn’t. It’d hurt the suit.”
“Try me.”
Another second skids by, like the empty pop of a record player skipping a line. Faust’s full lips press together, an unreadable emotion creasing his brow. His lips part. Wait. Then close again with a frown.
“Okay, out with it, what are you—”
“I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.” All the statues around us are quiet and watching. “I took the photos. I’ve been here. And I’ll go back out there, if you want me to. Say it, and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.”
My mind’s a mess of a million questions.What do you mean, it? Are you flirting with me here?But none of those questions are telling him to leave.
“Or.” He takes my glass from me. “We could go.”
To his room.
To his bed.
He’s looking at me in that strange, stabilizing way of his. It holds on to me, literally, keeping my frenetic pieces from jangling apart. Makes me think that saying yes can’t be that bad if he has such good control of himself. Of me.
Deliberately slow, I lift the pomegranate toast to my mouth and take the smallest nibble. Faust watches me eat, eyes shifting between my mouth and my throat, my swallow, my eyes. He watches me like he can’t look away.
And then, we leave.
Chapter 22EN PRISE
