Page 16 of The Bargain

I laugh. “If you want to.”

“I don’t,” she says. “I won’t.”

Never say never. You might look at my dirty hands, one day, and find you want them all over your clean, perfect body.

“You only ever need to do as much as you need to do to convince everyone that we’re actually together,” I clarify. “Do you agree to that?”

She considers it for a second, absorbs it. Or maybe she’s gathering all those emotions she’s hiding and burying them deep down.

She nods.

“So we have a deal?” I give her my hand.

She takes it. Her grip is firm and cold; there’s the merest tremble in her fingers. “We have a deal.”

6

Unknown Number

Desdemona

I get back to my bedroom, heart hammering. It’s as tidy as Elias’s was messy, as bright as his was dim. My books stacked in alphabetical order on their shelf, my tennis whites hanging from the wardrobe door, my timetables and lists pinned neatly to the wall above my desk. My bedding white and creaseless, a single velvet cushion shaped like a seashell propped against my pillows.

I slam the door shut behind me. My entire body shakes as I just stand there, trying to bring my emotions to heel.

Don’t be silly, love. You don’t have to demean yourself like this.

Elias Lennox’s words burn into me like the brand of a cult leader on a victim’s arm. I want to rub it off me, to wash it away, but it’s seared in, indelible.

You don’t have to demean yourself like this.

Fuck you.

I’ll date you, Elias Lennox. I’ll raise you high in the ranks of Spearcrest, deliver you to the Brotherhood. I’ll make a prince out of you, just like you want. I’ll protect you from jail, if I can, and if I can, I’ll make sure our deal never costs you anything more than the naming of the price.

But I hate you, and I will hate you until there’s no blood left in my heart with which to hate you.

And admitting this to myself is like opening a floodgate: my emotions come crashing out. Tears streak down my cheeks, burning like lava. I shove my hand into my blazer pocket, drop it in my despair to get it away from me. Notes come spilling out, fluttering down to the clean carpet. I drop to my knees and grab them in furious handfuls—wishing I could burn them away, burn them to ash, just like my memories of tonight.

“Dess, I saw your light come on, I⁠—”

My door opens on the sound of a soft, sweet voice, and I almost freeze in horror. I shove the money under my bed and turn, jumping up to my feet.

“Ophelia! You’ve not been answering your texts.”

Ophelia’s kohl-rimmed eyes, dark and clever just like Mum’s, move slowly, from the floor up to me. She closes the door behind her, frowning, and speaks with a slight wobble in her voice.

“Dess. What’s wrong?”

In the three days since the twins showed me Birnam’s body in the boathouse, I’ve not heard a single peep from Ophelia, not received a single text back. Why would she come to me now, of all nights?

“Nothing, Fee. Come in. Are you alright? I’ve been so worried⁠—”

“Are you crying?”

I wipe my eyes hastily with the sleeves of my blazer. “No, don’t be silly. I’m just tired. Come in, sit down.” I rush her to my bed, grab her hands as we both sit down on the edges. “Why haven’t you texted me back? I’ve been worried sick. Has something…” I swallow, not quite daring to meet her eyes. “Has something happened?”

“I turned my phone off.” Her tone is stubborn, almost angry. She’s still glancing at the floor, where the money lay moments ago, trying to catch my eyes, which are still sore and swollen with crying.