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I shouldn’t have looked for the message icon, should have just pretended it didn’t exist.
But therewasa message icon, and it was blinking right at me.
1 new: Vincent
Shit.
I opened it with a sigh, confident it would just be another like all the others, with the same load offly back to me, my lovecrap he’d been spouting of late.
But that wasn’t what the message said at all. Not even close.
I stared at it for long seconds before I pressed delete, turning it over in my head like it could have some alternative meaning.
It couldn’t. It was quite simple.
If my Pretty Bird won’t fly home to roost, the roost will fly to her. I’m London-bound, sweet Magpie. I’ll be seeing you very soon.
Oh fuck.
***
Chapter Nine
Faye
“It pains my heart when my beautiful magpie looks so sad.”
Vincent’s voice brings me back to the room, even though my eyes stay fixed on the mountains in the distance. Afternoon sunlight pours through the studio window, warm against my naked back. It’s the very definition of perfect, this place, nestled into the side of the Prealps, with this beautiful, creative, tempestuous man.
But he’s right. I am sad.
He rises from his chair, and I breathe a sigh at the inevitable. I turn away as the bed dips under his weight, holding off the moment when I have to meet his eyes. His fingers tickle the inside of my thighs.
“Speak with me, pretty bird, tell me of your sadness.”
“It’s nothing,” I lie.
Strong hands pull at my waist until I roll to face him. “Are you not happy here, Magpie?”
“Of course I am,” I protest. And I mean it; even though it’s been less than twelve months with a man like Vincent and I’m already breaking. His quest to explore the seedy depths of human experience knows no boundaries, and I’m simply a moth fluttering in the flame of his perverse indulgences, fragile and erratic.
“Then, what is it, pretty bird?” He grips my chin. “A good girl never keeps secrets from her master.”
I pull his hand from my face. “I’m just tired. Must we entertain again tonight?”
His scowl confirms his disappointment and my heart races.
“Our guests travel a long way, Magpie. They travel so far for the pleasure of our company, and you wish to send them away without courtesy?”
“No,” I say. “It just feels as though it’s never just us anymore.”
“It’s always just us,” he smiles. “Even when there are others, Magpie, it is always just us in my heart.”
A flash of anger in my stomach, and it rises too quickly for me to subdue it. “It’s not always just us in yourbed,though, is it? You never love just me anymore, Vincent. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t have to share.”
“We have spoken of this many times,” he says. “Must we speak of it again?” Strong hands squeeze my breasts, and his touch has me moaning before I can control myself. “Jealousy is natural and beautiful, pretty bird. I love the way you hurt for me. I love the way your soul longs to possess mine. I too feel the burn inside as I watch you with another. It is a good burn, sweet girl, it makes us alive. You must learn to embrace it.”
“Yes,” I say, and I don’t even know why I’m agreeing.
