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“Why?” She slid in the last pin to mark button placement, but did not let go of his sleeve.
“Because Kentoria's forces will be occupied. Looking for us. Me.” He offered a rueful smile.
“Oh.” She hadn't considered that, but it made sense. “And the other reason?”
His smile changed, softening at the edges as thoughtfulness touched his eyes. “Because I ordered you to leave, and you told me no.”
Thea's brow furrowed and she raised her gaze to his.
“You resisted with everything in you,” he said. “You didn't crumble or back down. I... enjoyed that.”
In her moment of stubbornness, the fact she was defying him never crossed her mind. She searched his eyes, struggling to find an explanation for her behavior before she realized he expected none. Her attention slid to the pins and she cleared her throat. “I'll have this done within an hour.” She removed the few pins that held the front closed, leaving those that marked button placement, and pushed the unfinished shirt back over his shoulders.
For a moment, she regretted her decision. Silvery scars peppered his bare skin, pale against his warm complexion. She halted with his shirt halfway down his arms, studying the marks. There were too many to count. None of it was surprising. He was an assassin; risk came with every job he took. A jagged mark just above his heart caught her eye and she swallowed back the wave of sadness it brought. “Oh, Gil.” She raised her head.
His eyes locked with hers and his breath hitched. Fire burned in his eyes with an intensity she'd never seen, a blaze that threatened to burn through her illusions and swallow her whole.
She didn't dare move, trapped in his gaze, unable—unwilling—to tear herself away.
“You make it difficult,” he whispered, “for me to be a better person.” Then he drew back, peeled the shirt from his arms on his own and pushed it into her hands.
Tension left her in a rush and she sucked in a breath.
He moved past her to wash his arms, shaking his head.
Thea didn't know what to say. She rearranged the shirt in her hands and made herself sit. The sewing basket was right there, still open, waiting for her to finish her work, but her fingers were sluggish and clumsy as she gathered what she needed to finish the job.
Gil scrubbed his hands and then ran his fingers through his hair. The illusion rippled around them, the strands shimmering between brown and the dark ashen blond that was their natural shade. “I am not deserving of such attention.”
All of a sudden, she couldn't see the thread between her fingers. Distraction blurred everything and she blinked hard to clear her mind and eyes. “I don't think you get to decide that.”
“I am being honest, Thea. Whatever you think of me now, I have not always been... this.” He leaned against the table for a moment before he gave his head another shake and scooped his discarded clothing from the floor.
“I don't know what you mean,” she said, though she thought she did.
“Then I will be blunt, and you may rue me for it. There has been no shortage of women in my life, and I have not always been as discerning as I now try to be. When a man is offered anything, you'll find very few refuse it.”
She had known. And she wasn't surprised. He was eloquent, charming, a gentleman in ways that surprised her. Recollection of the way he'd stood before her during the festival's dance, his mouth so tantalizingly close, sprang to her thoughts with such force it made her blush. What sort of woman would refuse? Light knew she wouldn't have. She squeezed her eyes closed. “If you think to spare my virtue, then you're too late. The last man who thought to become my husband was not so considerate as you.”
Gil turned, but said nothing.
The thread was still twisted around her forefinger and thumb. She made herself roll it into a knot and licked her lips. If blunt honesty was how he preferred to communicate, so be it. “My father sought a marriage for me as a means to save his business. A powerful nobleman's second son, a marriage for wealth and security. They offered a high bride price and my father ordered me to secure it by any means necessary. I was not to anger or refuse my betrothed in any way.”
His brows drew low, a deep furrow between them. “You should bear no such burden.”
She snorted. “But I did, and I did it poorly. My betrothed and his family made sure my father knew as much when they canceled our union a mere week before the wedding.”
“You should command better than a transactional marriage.”
“Is that not what this is?” She motioned between them. “A transaction? A means for us to get where we need to go, a trade of stability for an illusion?” Her fingers curled in the unfinished shirt in her lap.
Gil's expression grew pinched.
She didn't know why she'd asked. It was a sham, all of it. Nothing more than her first arranged marriage had been.
Yet even as she scolded herself for the confusing emotions that gripped her chest like a vise, the thread between her fingers grew blurry again, this time with tears. She fought them back as she attached button after button, chasing magic down her fingertips and into each stitch so she could be done. Closures, for silence. For hiding. For security. Secrets.
He finished scrubbing stains from his things and hung them across the table to dry as the last closure was finished.
