Page 107 of Allegiant

I eye him suspiciously as I take it from him. “Why on earth would you take this? It’s just a piece of crap. Your shirt is probably worth more.”

“It’s not fun robbing myself.” Dalton shrugs. “Besides, I would’ve given it back eventually.”

“This is why I don’t want you going anywhere alone with him,” Samson growls in my ear. “Who knows what he’ll do.”

“Please.” Dalton folds his arms over his chest. “I have some morals. Your dancer is as safe with me as any of us.”

Samson grunts in what sounds like grudging agreement, but he doesn’t release me from his hold.

Dalton smirks at me. “Best let him say his piece first. I’ll meet you in the library.”

Then the two of us are alone in the hallway.

Sighing, I turn in Samson’s hold until I’m facing him. His stone-faced expression makes my heart race faster, but not from fear. I shouldn’t do it, should start to distance myself, but I can’t help but wrap my arms around his neck, rising on my toes to kiss him. I don’t stop until I feel some of his tension leech away. Only then do I break away.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just don’t know why you need Dalton,” he grumbles. It’s so fucking endearing that I find myself grinning. “I can give you everything you need.”

“You can and do,” I assure him. “But this isn’t something you can help me with. Do you trust me?”

He searches my face before nodding slowly. “I do. I fucking do. Question is, do you trust me?”

I tilt my head, puzzled. “Of course. You’ve not given me a reason not to.”

“Good.” He smiles. A warm, genuine smile that has me wishing this never has to end.

Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe, this time, you can stop happiness from slipping through your fingers.

“Go see Dalton,” he says, running his nose along mine. “And if he steals anything from you, he keeps his dagger in a sheath at the back of his pants. Show him how well you can throw it, and he’ll never steal from you again.”

“Well? Can you do it?”

Dalton sits back in his chair, his hands clasped over his stomach. “Of course. It’s not difficult.”

“Great.” I shift in my own chair, hating that I need to ask the next question. But if I need to sell a kidney to make this happen for Samson, I might genuinely consider it. Because I’d never ask the Buckinghams to cover this for me. I want to be the one to pay. I guess I could go to The Firm, although I think I’d prefer to explore the illegal organ trade route first. At least with them, I know exactly what I’ll be losing. “How much will you charge?”

Dalton laughs. A lot. So much so that I find myself blushing.

“What’s so funny?”

“Fuck, you’re adorable,” Dalton says, wiping tears from under his eyes. He chuckles once more as he picks up a pencil. “We don’t charge family.”

“Yes, but Samson isn’t commissioning this. I am.”

“The rule still stands,” he says lightly, scooting his chair over to a drawing table. “Now, tell me everything. What does Samson need for this studio?”

“I’d really like to pay you for it. I want it to come from me.”

“It will come from you—the ideas, the thought behind it. But I won’t be charging you for any of it, so put that out of your mind. Now tell me. What does he need?”

I bite my lip as I drift over to join him. “It doesn’t need to be too fancy. I don’t know if Samson will even want to build it.”

“Oh, he will,” Dalton murmurs, already sketching lines out onto the paper. “He won’t spare any expense either. Especially if it comes from you.”

I hesitate. It’s one thing to commission these plans, but the last thing I want is for Samson to feel obliged to fork over a shit-ton of money for something he doesn’t really want.

He does want this. He’s just too scared to allow himself to pursue it.