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“On the count of three,” I said. He groaned in acknowledgment. “One . . . two . . .” I braced myself. “Three!” I grunted, throwing all my weight forward, and flipped him over onto his back.
“Too fast. Too bright,” he grumbled, covering his eyes with his hands.
I moved to the end of the bed, where his feet hung off the edge, and started unlacing his boots. “Don’t worry, I’ll turn the lights off soon,” I said. “I’m very surprised, Ansel. I never took you for such a lightweight. You don’t seem like the type.” Especially if he was a recovering Casanova, as he said, and spent so much time at Nightshade. In those places, women and booze paired as well together as red wine and Gouda.
I didn’t expect him to answer. He just laid there with his face frozen in a wince. I knew that wince well—the room was probably mid-spin for him. But he surprised me and answered, “Not a lightweight. I just haven’t drank in a year.”
I stopped yanking on his boot to stare at him. The boot hung forward on his foot like a limp appendage. “Are you an alcoholic? Oh my goddess, did we just cause you to relapse—”
“No,” he grumbled. “No vices. I stopped to focus.”
I nodded slowly, though I knew he couldn’t see me. No vices. He needed to have a clear mind when focusing on his mission. It had been a year since his parents were killed, and it didn’t take an expert to connect one event to the other. What did he call himself the other day? A recovering Casanova. It explained why he was so good with his fingers, at least. Though the Casanova thing didn’t surprise me as much as the year of no alcohol; Ansel just oozed sex, whether he was trying to be a good boy or not.
“You still smoke,” I pointed out, pulling off his left boot and moving to unlace the next. “Wouldn’t that count as a vice? And I’m not a doctor or anything, but I’m pretty sure those kill you faster than cirrhosis or . . . an STD.”
“Hey, I always wrap it up. And I would get tested regularly. I may live my life fast and dangerous, but I’m not completely reckless, okay?” He paused. “Plus, smoking looks cool.” Though most of his face was covered with his hand, I could hear the smile in his voice.
I snorted. “Yeah, but lung cancer doesn’t.”
“In this line of work, there’s an unsaid expectation that most of us won’t live past a certain age. It’s honestly a blessing to live long enough to develop cancer. Morbid, I know, but it’s how most of us feel. Every day alive is a blessing.”
I didn’t respond as I peeled off his next boot. What could I say? Sorry? Though Ansel didn’t really choose this life, I didn’t exactly believe him when he said once you joined the mafia, you could never really leave.
I set his boot on the ground, lining it up next to its mate under the bed. “Ok, now time for your pants. Lift your bum.”
“Take me on a date first, at least.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not trying to get into your pants, Ansel. I’m trying to get them off so you’re comfortable tonight.” I crossed to the other side of the bed and placed my hands on my hips, waiting.
“So, you do care about me. Up until this point, I wasn’t sure.” He lifted his hand away from his face to give me a dopey smile.
I made no comment as I bit down on my lip, hiding my smile. I half-rolled my eyes instead.
His fingers fumbled with his pants buckles a few times. He let out a long sigh, frowning in my direction and silently asking for help with his eyes. I rolled my eyes, unable to hide my smile, and I bent over and finished the job for him.
“One thing that I can’t figure out,” Ansel said as I folded his jeans and set them on top of the dresser. The fact that his accent stood out stronger, almost making his words unintelligible when he was drunk, made me giggle. “Why were you with your boyfriend so long? What was so fucking great about him? He couldn’t even make you come.” He talked as I covered him with the blanket. I had no intention of kicking his drunk ass off the bed. It was my last night; I could handle the sleeping pad for one night.
I took a seat next to him on the bed like I was a mother tucking in her child after telling him a bedtime story. “I don’t know why you say that word. It’s so crude,” I said. “I mean, sex is important in a relationship, but it’s not the most important thing, you know? There are so many other factors that go into a successful relationship. And Carter is a catch, trust me.” I straightened my back and started ticking off my fingers. “He’s really ambitious and very business savvy, especially when it comes to investing. He went to a really prestigious school for his MBA. He comes from a good family. His parents are well-known and highly respected in the fae community. Honestly, all things considered, you couldn’t ask for much more in a boyfriend.”
Ansel narrowed his eyes, giving me an incredulous look. “I didn’t ask you to read his resume, lass. I asked, why doyoulike him?”
I looked away as I mulled over his question. Why did I like Carter? The qualities I had already listed off for Ansel were what my mother ingrained into me about what mattered most in a husband. Looks didn’t matter because that always faded over time. Personality? It was important, but not high on the list. Money put food in your belly and kept a roof over your head, humor did not. Plus, Carter was charming and witty enough.
But why did I like Carter? There had to be a reason why I fell in love with him, aside from his family connections and earning potential. I wasn’t that vain, was I?
I chewed the inside of my cheek, thinking hard enough to give myself a headache, but I could only bring a list of things that made me resent my ex-boyfriend to the surface.
The top and most important bullet on my list—he broke up with me, relinquishing the title of boyfriend, while still getting the benefit of sex.
I was so mad at him for manipulating me for sex, especially when he knew I could never separate sex and feelings when it came to him, but more than that, I was mad at myself for letting him have that kind of control over me.
But maybe the time apart has made him realize how much he’s hurt you? And he’s ready to move forward as a changed man.
Even as that thought passed through my mind, I knew it was a lie. I hated the mental gymnastics I put myself through to justify keeping Carter in my life. Pre- and post-breakup, that lying, justifying voice had always been there.
I would never admit this out loud, especially not to Ansel, but the only reason I desperately clung to Carter was because he was my last chance at marriage. I had never been considered conventionally attractive. I owned a mirror; I knew perfectly well what I looked like. I was too tall, took up too much room. Too intimidating. Fae men wanted their wives short, petite, and submissive, like a flower they could pluck from a garden and hide inside their pocket. An accessory, not a partner.
The fact I was barreling toward my mid-thirties didn’t help my case, either. I had reached my unspoken expiration date and now was just trash. The world may be progressive for other species—women having babies and getting married well into their thirties, usually in that backward order, or actively choosing not to do any of those things at all—but the fae and elves of this world had their feet firmly planted in the past. I was a victim of their old-world traditions and there was nothing I could do to change it. Unless I wanted to be disowned by not only my family, but my entire culture.
