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"And grouchy. And arrogant. And self-important. And just…"
"Do tell. What else am I?" He leaned back, enthralled by her attempts to insult him.
"An unfeeling bastard," she pursed her lips in satisfaction. His widened in amusement.
"I'm not objecting. You can go on," he motioned, inviting her to shred his character some more. Whereas before people had met their end for suggesting far less than she was, he couldn't find it in him to be mad at the exchange. If anything, he enjoyed the little spar, feeling more relaxed than he'd been in days.
"You remind me a lot of the hero in the book, actually," she suddenly mentioned, and Michele's ears perked up.
"Hear that," he laughed. "Me, a hero."
"Well, he wasn't a hero in the beginning either," she licked her lips, slowly lifting her gaze to his. "But he evolved into one."
Michele's expression turned serious.
"Don't make me into something I'm not, pet," he warned quietly.
A wry smile pulled at her lips.
"Don't worry about that. I'm not about to make the same mistake twice. I may be dumb, but I'm notthatdumb," she laughed nervously.
"You're not dumb." He didn't know why he felt the need to defend her—though it was from herself—but it didn't sit right with him that anyone should insult her like that.
The words took her by surprise.
"You have a funny way of showing it," she shook her head.
"What do you mean," he frowned.
He might have made fun of her at times, might have even thought of her like that, but he'd never outrightly insulted her to her face.
"This," she waved between the two of them. "This is you thinking I'm more stupid than I actually am," she took a deep breath. "Do you really think that one cozy moment like this is going to erase all the pain you've caused me? That because I'm talking to you right now I'm ready to forgive and forget?"
"Well," he gave her his charming smile. "Yes."
His pet rolled her eyes as if he'd said the most inane thing.
"Then tell me one thing," she turned towards him, grabbing his hands with her own, the touch confusing him and leaving him reeling. "Why did you insist on the abortion? Why were you so against our child?"
She did her best to keep her voice from trembling as she directed her gaze towards him in the most pure, most artless way. Though her tone bore artificial strength, her eyes gave her away—she was giving him the last chance.
He grit his teeth at the question, knowing she wasn't going to like the answer.
"No child of mine willeverbe born, pet," he told her squarely. "Never."
"Why?" she kept foolishly probing, a semblance of hope in her voice.
"Because only death awaits that child," he said curtly, removing her touch and looking away, thereby ending the discussion.
He didn't specify what type of death, or who would dole it out.
Venezia didn't ask either.
She looked at him for a few more moments, memorizing his features as he was in that instant—the most real he'd ever been with her. The sun emphasized the paleness of his skin and the way his irises seemed almost translucent. Not unlike the first time he'd set his eyes on her, she got butterflies in her stomach and she couldn't help but recall the good times—those instances in which he'd been the closest thing she'd ever had to a friend. Her gaze traveled lower, to his lips, her own tingling in response as her body remembered his soft, sweet kisses, not the bruising ones. And she preferred it that way. She would rememberonlythe good.
She looked her fill and stored that image away because she knew it would be the last time they'd be that cordial.
At some point, Michele was going to find out the truth.
