Page 40 of The Bargain

“What we need”—I cut her off—“is something real.”

“Nothing between us is real,” she snaps.

“But it could be.”

“I can’t force myself to fall in love with you.”

I stare at her for a moment. My heart is beating fast, I realise, and I’m reminded of the times in my life I felt unsafe—which have been many—and the times I felt elated, because fear and elation, when it comes to the body’s response, are shockingly alike.

I answer her very softly. “You think I don’t know that?”

She watches me, eyes wide. Her eyelashes are surprisingly dark, and the fawn-brown of her irises, I realise for the first time, is circled on the outside by a slightly darker brown. I’m reminded of a young, startled deer.

“Nobody’s ever been able to force themselves to love me,” I tell her, truthfully—because that’s how we’re going to fake this properly—by using the truth. “Not even my own parents. So you don’t need to worry about that, love.”

I want to laugh, to defuse the tension like I’m so good at doing, but the laughter doesn’t quite bubble in my throat as easily as it normally does. It’s got nothing to do with my parents, though, and everything to do with the sudden stricken expression in Desdemona’s eyes.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says, and there’s a catch in her voice. “You’re worthy of love, just⁠—”

Now I laugh—not to defuse the tension, but because this is the first truly funny thing Desdemona has said so far.

“No, I’m not.” I shake my head and then look into her eyes, mouth quivering with amusement. “And neither are you. Nobody is. We’re all born worthless and unworthy.”

She stares at me, eyes wide, and this time, she’s got nothing to say. I take her face gently in my hand, and I’m reminded of the first time I touched her, how luminous she seemed, how much I wished to drain the light out of her.

She’s not so luminous now. I brush my fingers across her cheek, fanning them over the smooth skin, latching onto the delicate shelf of her jaw.

“But you know what?”

She watches me silently.

“That’s the whole point of love,” I tell her. There’s electricity in my veins, a sudden, startling elation. “Not that we deserve it, but that we don’t. And one day, someone’s gonna love you just like that—in your darkest day and in your messiest moment. They’ll love you all the more because you did absolutely nothing to deserve it. And when they do…”

I lean forward, and I speak right against her lips, like a promise.

“It’ll feel so fucking good you’ll never want it to stop.”

15

Blurring Lines

Elias

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

At my whispered question, Desdemona’s eyes flutter and then a blush blooms on her cheeks. She pushes me away, forcing me to give her space, and grabs my wrist, pulling my hand away from her face.

“We came here to plan what we need to do to convince everyone we’re together,” Desdemona snaps. “Not to discuss your unconventional philosophies.”

There’s a hint of anger in her voice, but her eyes are still wide and shiny, and the flush is still deep and dark on her cheeks, a damask rose burst open. If she found my words hard to swallow, it’s perhaps because she liked the taste a little too much.

Maybe that’s her problem. Maybe she doesn’t put enough things in her mouth she actually likes the taste of.

“You really think that’s what’s going to make us more convincing?” I jab my chin in the direction of her notebook, which is lying pitifully in a heap of rumpled pages on the smooth wooden parquet. “A schedule?”

“I like being organised.”

“You like being in control.”