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He brought those dark eyes to mine, fingers brushing against my palm as he took the napkin. “You don’t need to apologize.”
A light shiver dusted my spine. “Yet here I am,” I said as I sat beside him, one leg tucked underneath me, my body facing his. “And I’m apologizing.”
“Then I accept your unnecessary apology,” he said as he tipped his head back against the settee, eyes closed. A skull encased with dark red roses was tattooed on his neck, green vines wrapping like fingers snaking their way over that thick, purely male throat—a blueprint of where to touch, where to caress, where to kiss.
I blinked and reeled myself up from the gutter. “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, not really caring if I was overstepping.
“No.” He didn’t look at me. “This is not something that concerns you, Little Goddess.”
It bothered me more than I wanted to admit that he was not looking at me—that he was shutting me out. And damn it all, I wanted to know who the woman was.
But I didn’t bother to pry.
When I got up and walked away, he didn’t seem to notice.
Later on, sprawled out on the end of Harper and Lyra’s bed, my gaze traced the intricate clove pattern etched in the copper ceiling tiles. Lyra sat near the headboard, a glass jar sitting on the table beside her, a thin brush in her hand as she painted her toes. Tonight, she chose an emerald color, reminding me of the jealous beast that kept spontaneously appearing in my head.
I realized that as much as I hated to admit it, I was attracted to Von. But I barely knew him and I had no right to interject myself between him and that woman. He’d had a life before we met. And whatever I had witnessed was clearly part of that life. I sighed.
“Okay, what’s up, Sage? You’ve been stuck in your head for the past half hour,” Harper said as she strolled out of the bathing room, a crisp white towel piled on top of her head and a clay mask smeared all over her face.
Lyra stopped painting, her eyes looking my way, like she, too, had been wondering the same thing.
I rolled onto my stomach, my hand propping up my head. “The woman outside the bathhouse. Do you know who she is?”
Harper unwrapped the towel from her hair. Balling it up, she chucked it into the wicker hamper sitting to the left of the door. “Not really. I don’t know much about her.”
“Not knowing much and knowing nothing are two different things. Come on, Harps, tell me what you know,” I drawled, waiting for her to continue. I didn’t know if that made me feel worse or better—that Harper knew something about the woman.
Worse, I finally decided.
She glanced at me, her shoulders performing an apologetic shrug. “All I know is that Von sees her every time we come to Belamour and it never goes well. I don’t know anything other than that.” She paused. “Did you try asking him about it?”
“I tried. He was not in a talking mood.” I picked at a thread on the blanket, pulling it until it wouldn’t pull anymore. I wound it around my finger, trying to snap it off. It wouldn’t budge.
“He’s always been like that,” Harper said after a moment of silence.
“Not in a talking mood?” I glared at the black thread and then I yanked on it some more.
“No, I mean that he just never really divulges much when it comes to personal things. He’s been like that for as long as I have known him.” She walked towards the mirror, her fingers plucking a brush from the makeup vanity. Her reflection offered me a half-smile. “I dunno, maybe just give him some time and then see if he will open up.” She shrugged. “Men are odd creatures, especiallythatone.”
I gave up on the thread—the stubborn bastard.
And as much I didn’t want to, I decided to take Harper’s advice and give him time.
He could have one week.
Before I knew it, one week gave way to two.
I stared up at the ceiling in my room, glaring at it as if it were its fault that I couldn’t sleep tonight. Frustration was beginning to overwhelm me.
Over the past two weeks, we had not seen the king’s advisor once. Worse, we had not even heard so much as a whisper about him. We had nothing to go on—when or even if he would attend the bathhouse—which meant we were no closer to finding out where Kaleb was than when we had arrived.
For all we knew, the king’s advisor had found a new favorite bathhouse, or maybe he’d found new satisfaction with his wife—if he had one.
We knew nothing.
I groaned and rolled onto my side. I was beginning to wonder if this plan, Von’s plan, was pointless.
