My first reflex is to lie. He couldn’t tell if I did, but I decide to be truthful instead.
I lift my gaze to meet his. “I keep forgetting how this all started.”
It’s been half a week since I last visited the Oracle, and we’ve been attached at the hip ever since. I’ve performed a few times at Animus, but aside from those handful of trips to the city, we’ve been here, in this bizarre domestic bubble, and I suddenly itch to kill the illusion.
Gemini’s expression is serious. It’s only this stern when the topic ofuscomes up, as if speaking about the oddities of our … relationship is a direct offense to him.
“This?” he hisses.
Regret pulses as if alive inside of me. Maybe I should have said nothing instead, enjoyed this lovely breakfast and his devoted attention. But I can’t stop talking.
“Us,” I reply.
He sucks on his teeth before turning his back to me, as if needing to peer out the window. He’s completely naked under the apron, which makes this tense moment feel especially ridiculous. After a few loaded beats, he turns back to face me and sits down on the bed. I can’t help but think it’s an unconscious urge for us to appear more equal, and my heart pitches out of my chest at the small gesture.
“Why does it matter?” He scratches his head with irritation, the impatience unmistakable in his tone.
“Youkidnappedme,” I reply, stunned. “Paraded me around on a leash.”
He rolls his eyes, as if I’m being difficult, and the pang of rage I feel leaves me breathless. Huffing a laugh, he asks, “This again?”
“Thisagain?” I repeat, my voice now an octave higher. “You speak as if this were lifetimes ago when, in fact, it’s been”—I make a rough calculation in my head—“a month!”
Saying it out loud consumes me with dread, considering how fast I myself have forgotten what those first two weeks felt like for me. The fear I experienced. It makes sitting here in bed—a breakfast tray over my lap, prepared by the same man who stole my autonomy—that much more dystopian.
He drags a palm over his face before pinning me with his glare. “Why are you so obsessed with time, doll?”
“Stop calling me that,” I spit, suddenly feeling sick.
His laugh is icy against my skin. “How feisty you are becoming.”
I cross my arms, my heart now beating wildly inside my chest as we stare at each other, and I can almost feel the strum of his corded muscles. The rising tension beating through him like a deadly melody.
“You were a monster to me not a few weeks ago,” I say, my voice now lowered and even.
His expression shutters, the muscles in his jaw feathering. The moment stretches into anxious anticipation as he stares at me, but says nothing.
Until …
“Still am,” he says coldly before flipping the tray off my lap. It flies through the air and crashes against the wall.
The sound of glass breaking shocks me, but I barely flinch as we continue to face each other down. Then he blinks and his expression changes. The aggression is gone. His gaze turns casual, and somehow, that is the thing that frightens me most.
“I haven’t changed, Veil Vulturine,” he says. Standing up, he makes a small show of dusting off his apron before pinning me with his mismatched eyes one last time. “It might be time for you to take accountability for your actions, little rabbit.” He drags his tongue over his bottom lip before adding, “You haven’t been my doll for weeks.”
He doesn’t give me the chance to reply before storming out of the bedroom, leaving me to stew in my own confusing thoughts.
A few hours later,Gemini hasn’t said a word to me unless absolutely necessary. He failed to accompany me into the mannequin room to pick my outfit, and I hated the sting just as much as his absence.
I chose a black dress with an open back and hoped my outfit would stir a few emotions, enough for his gaze to linger, but he’s kept his eyes averted all the way into Pravitia, and I’m beginning to feel off-kilter by his lack of attention.
The town car slowly comes to a stop in front of a high-rise near Mount Pravitia, and my heart flips when Gemini’s hard gaze finally lands on mine. With black eyeliner smudged under his waterline, he’s dressed casually in a mesh top and red jeans, but he’d look regal in any outfit.
“Ready?” he asks, his voice flat.
I hate everything about his tone, but I act unperturbed and nod. “Not my first tattoo,” I say dismissively.
He looks as though he wants to say something, but changes his mind at the last second and opens the car door instead. He offers his hand, and although I want to ignore it out of spite, I take it. Still, I wonder if he’s only escorting me out of the car because we are now in public.
