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“You think I’m going to give you the satisfaction?”
“Look at me,” I order.
She looks at me.
The look in her eyes speaks volumes that I’m sure could fill libraries.
First and foremost is the defiance. She loves to hate how I take control.
Percy fancies herself a woman in charge. A leader of the pack if you will.
An Alpha female. But that doesn’t work with me. She tries, but it always fails.
I’m not just some Joe Blow that she toys with who thinks he’s an Alpha male.
No, I am the Alpha male.
And she loves that about me—even though she tells me she doesn’t.
But beyond the defiance, I see more. There is fear in her eyes that dances like a wildfire.
It’s not fear that I’ll hurt her—she knows that’s not who I am—but it’s fear at acknowledging that we belong together.
“Tell me you love me.”
She swallows hard and shakes her head.
“No. I won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t love you, Anton. This, all of this, is just one big cluster fuck because I had way too much absinthe and Heineken. That’s it.”
It’s a bold-faced lie. One made all the more obvious when she looks away from me as she says it. Everyone has a tell.
Everyone.
You spend enough time at the poker table with someone, and you learn when they’re bluffing and when they’ve got a damn good hand.
I know all of Percy’s tells.
There’s no lie that she can tell me that I’ll believe.
But even without knowing all those little intimate pieces of information, it’s obvious that she doesn’t mean it when she tells me that she doesn’t love me.
“Bullshit, Percy.”
She turns to look at me again. She tries her best to look angry and righteous.
“I. Don’t. Love. You. End of fucking story. Why can’t you believe that?” she says with false conviction.
Her words may be directed at me, but it’s really herself that she’s trying to convince.
“You can lie to yourself all you want Percy, but don’t lie to me,” I growl.
“Why won’t you fucking believe me? Why can’t you just let me go, and go the fuck back to your fancy castle?”
“Because you’re my wife! I—we—made vows. ‘Till death do us part!’ I made a fucking promise to you. To us. And I refuse to walk away and break that promise,” I say with frustration and reverence. “I fucking love you, Persephone Owens. For better or for worse.”
