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“You know how these meetings go.”
“Ooh!” she says, trying to calm herself. “Yeah. I do. Which was your mistake, not mine.”
I narrow my gaze on her, trying to make sense of this, but I realise I’m the one who made mistakes. That fact alone doesn’t make me feel any better.
“You’re meant to be a silent counterpart.”
I step forward, stealing the gap between us, forcing myself into her personal space.
“I’m meant to be a lot of things.”
I tilt my head sideways and take in the sight of her. Her ferocity was always a turn-on for me. Years haven’t dampened that fact or her. In fact, she’s darker now, impassioned in ways her father wouldn’t have even imagined.
“Especially to you,” she says, jabbing her index finger into my chest.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” she asks. “Don’t do this?” She jabs her finger into my chest again. “Why not, Beckett? Is it because you don’t like it or because you’re meant to be untouchable?”
I square my jaw, allow her this moment because I know we’re both a hyper cell of pent-up emotions.
“Well, guess what, darling boy? Not one of us is off limits.” This time, she slams a full palm against me. “You want me as your prisoner, but you had to know I wouldn’t make it easy for you.” She hits my chest, forcing me away. “Regardless of what happened, you knew me once upon a time. Why would you ever think I’d change that much?”
“Can’t blame a guy for being an optimist.”
“Optimist?” she huffs sarcastically. “You?”
“I was optimistic about my chances of taking your spot. Guess who wasn’t wrong?”
“You’re a double-crossing arsehole!” she bellows, hitting me again like it will help.
“You can hit me all you want. It doesn’t change the situation.”
I guess the response wasn’t what she wanted, as she just hits me again. Repeatedly, her fists slam into my chest, but I don’t move.
“Stop!” I bellow, my neck tensing with my fury. “Just stop, Talia!”
“What if I don’t want to?”
I can see her for what she is. In this slice of aggression is where Natalia is at her most vulnerable, and my darling girl is breaking. Just how I hoped. Just how I wished.
She goes to hit me again, but I grab her wrists, holding her still with her small fists in the air, her breathing rapid with both anger and exertion.
“Just stop.”
This time I’m softer—in tone, not in grip.
“Just stop.”
Her entire body slackens against my hold. She bows her head.
“What are we doing?” she asks. “This isn’t how it was meant to happen.”
“You had to know it wasn’t going to be easy.”
It’s a basic echo of her own words, but it’s true—this was never going to be easy.
“You weren’t meant to be on the throne.” Her eyes look up, but her head remains bowed. Under a hooded glance, I see venom swirl in the hues of her eyes. “You were meant to be where I left you.”
