Shock tightens my stomach, though I don’t know why I should be surprised. She’s a beautiful, smart, extremely desirable young woman. Even trapped in her castle, she has suitors. There’s a churning inside me, a strange mixture of jealousy and loss. She was never mine.
“What was your answer?” I’m pleased that my tone comes out light.
“I said I’d think about it, but I don’t want to marry him.”
Worry furrows her expression, and I feel myself grow hot from anger. “Are you afraid to tell him no?”
If there is someone threatening her I have no problem standing up to this faceless, nameless asshole. I may live a life of ease and luxury these days, in high-rise hotels and satin sheets, but I was a street mongrel once. I fought and scraped and clawed my way through Tangier’s back alleys. A rich frat boy in Tanglewood will not stand a chance.
She looks away with a slight shake of her head, not quite agreeing, but not refuting it either. “This is going to sound weird, but I had this feeling that he only wanted me because…”
The final piece falls into place, making acid rise in my throat. “Because you’re a virgin.”
“I mean he didn’t say that, but it felt like that was part of the reason. There’s never been anything romantic between us. He’s been with lots of women in the papers. So why would he propose to me unless there was something different about me.”
There are many different things about Beatrix Cartwright, and they have nothing to do with the hymen that I took from her. But I do not point that out. If she doubts the motives of this man, then he is not worthy of her. “Have you told him that you are no longer a virgin?”
If he wanted her innocence, he might become angry when she tells him.
She seems to sense my concern. “He wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Then why not simply tell him no?”
“Our relationship is… complicated. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”
A sudden suspicion makes my blood pressure spike. “This man who proposed. Is he perhaps the same person who became your guardian when you were a child?”
She looks stricken. “How do you know about that?”
I force myself not to growl in frustration. “Someone must have done so. You were underage.”
“Yes, he was my dad’s business partner. And he became my guardian.”
“And he wants to marry you?” This time I do not manage to sound light or calm. I’m furious.
“It’s not like we were ever close. He didn’t become a parent to me. He was more like… the money person. He was the custodian of my trust. And he made sure I had everything I needed.”
If he had really done that, Bea would be able to leave this hotel. “He must be older than you.”
A miserable shrug. “I suppose. That’s not the reason I don’t want to marry him, though. I just don’t love him, you know? Not even as a guardian, really. And definitely not as a husband.”
It’s almost impossible to control my breathing. I’m like a bull, snorting and pawing at the ground. The image of anyone hurting Bea, coercing her, making her feel small—the red cape. “You don’t need a reason to tell him no.”
“I know that I can say no. That I should say no, but I think… once he finds out I’m not a virgin anymore, he’ll lose interest. And that will be easier. That’s why I called the service that first night. Why I wanted sex without the pleasure.”
My stomach drops. “Who owns the penthouse suite, Bea?”
“He owns the hotel.”
“So you have to marry him or he’ll kick you out?” For any other heiress that wouldn’t be a hardship, but for a scared young woman with anxiety and agoraphobia? Yes, that’s a sufficient threat.
My blood runs hot, because only a true bastard would give her that choice.
“He didn’t say that,” she says, defensive.
“But you’re worried that would happen.”
“I’d rather avoid the problem.”
And that sums up the reason she’s still in the penthouse, why the biggest step she’s taken in ten years is onto this rooftop. Because she wants to avoid fear instead of facing it. In some ways she’s incredibly strong—the music she makes, the empire she’s built from it.
Even hiring me, a stranger, to do intimate things with her, fighting years of isolation, took a strength most people don’t have. In other ways she’s still a scared little girl, trapped by her grief.
I brush the back of my fingers against her cheek, pushing aside the idea of this man trying to marry Bea, letting go for a few blissful moments the idea of revenge. Ignoring the knowledge that at some point, I’ll be the problem Bea wants to avoid. Dread forms knots in my stomach, but it can’t touch the immediacy of feeling her skin against mine.
She turns her face, pressing a kiss against my knuckles.
“Here?” I ask softly, giving her the option to retreat. It’s the better part of valor, after all, and she’s shown plenty of valor tonight. Being here on the roof is a new place to her, even if it’s technically part of the building she’s called home for over a decade.
She does not look away from my eyes, her green ones dark as emeralds in the final glory of dusk. “Something to remember this night.”
Even she can feel the sands of time slipping away.
I lean close to her, pressing a kiss to the constellations across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes are closed, so I kiss one eyelid and then the other. She blows out a soft breath, still not looking at me, but feeling me. She’s so attuned to me in this moment that she knows when my gaze lowers to her mouth. Her lips part, and I make her wait. Cruel, this. I make her wait while I study those plush pink lips. There’s even the faintest spray of freckles over her lips.
When I kiss her I imagine I can taste them, these stars. They taste like woman and salt and something elemental to the universe, as if I’m taking sustenance from her. Nourishing myself with her flavor.
“Look up, Bea.”
She looks at me, and that should be gratifying to me. It’s not quite an accident that I ended up in a profession that amounts of exhibitionism with a different woman every night. They like to look at me, and I enjoy being looked at. But I want something different for her. Something better.
“Up,” I say, giving her a tap on the chin.
Obediently her lashes lift. She looks up at the stars and lets out a shuddery breath. “How do people do this every day? They walk outside and they don’t even worry? It seems impossible.”
“You do things that are impossible,” I tell her, tracing a finger lazily down her jaw. “You make beautiful music that millions of people want to watch.”
And you make me dream of a different life than this.
Her eyes become wet with tears, but she does not look away from the dark sky. “Anything could happen. We’re not protected out here.”
And then despite my best efforts I cannot help but to think of her. Of my mother who could not even find safety in the small rooms we rented. “Safety isn’t real, Bea. It’s a dream.”
A tear runs down her cheek. “Why would you say that?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, immediately contrite. That isn’t for her. That’s only for me, the sense that I will never be safe, that I will never be enough. That I can never make up for being a scared little boy in the closet.