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“I am not yours to own.”
“Right now, you aren’t.”
“In private, you can call all the shots. But to the rest of the world? You’re fucking mine, and I don’t share.”
“My parents.” He sighs, running a hand across his rugged jaw. “It will break my mother’s heart if she knows I married for anything but love. I won’t do that to her. That’s my only condition.”
“No falling in love. I’m not saying this to tempt you. This
applies to both of us. This needs to remain as fake as possible, or else I’m gone.”
“Is that your greatest fear, Hex? Falling in love?”
“You can’t be afraid of something you’ve never known,”
“No, Silas. I’m not afraid of love,” I say firmly. “But you should be afraid of me. I hurt people who try to care about me, Hawthorne. Don’t let yourself becomes one more victim of my wretched heart.”
The space inside me, the one reserved for Rosie, aches. It’s not a choice; it’s an unwavering fact. She took with her a piece of me that no one will ever have again. It’s hers to keep—I’d never take it away from her. It took time to realize that moving on, grieving, didn’t take away the love I had for her. I thought if I stayed angry, if I hurt the people who hurt her, it would bring me peace. Chasing revenge only opened up more doors to pain.
Mostly, not realizing sooner that healing from her loss wasn’t me trying to forget her. It was a way of honoring her. A way of maybe helping her find peace in the afterlife, knowing I’m okay here without her.
With pain comes remembrance. The throb and ache of loss is a constant reminder of the person who no longer exists. When you hurt, you remember everything so clearly because the pain forces you to. When you stop hurting, you forget.
Rosemary Donahue deserved someone who would hurt for her for lifetimes.
It’s often forgotten that we weren’t just in a relationship. When she died, I lost my friend.
Soon, we are going to be under the same roof; then she won’t have anywhere to hide from me. She’ll be carrying my last name, existing in my space. We’re about to be bound for at least two years, and she can’t resist me that long. Especially if I apply a little pressure. I’ve barely tried.
She’s going to break for me. I’m not afraid of a curse, especially when they look like Coraline Whittaker.
Maybe that should have been something I mentioned when I was laying out my rules. I blame it on the fact I got distracted by his arms in that shirt. Sex brain ruins everything.
“But if you say another word about Silas, if you think a negative thought about him, I’ll make sure you’re out on your ass with nothing but your sparkling personality when I take my piece of Elite.”
“Poor has a smell, and you won’t like when I leave you covered in it.”
“Here.” His hand extends toward me. “Nora would’ve wanted you to have this. This was going to be the dress she wore at our wedding—” He clears his throat uncomfortably before he continues. “Take it. Get rid of it, wear it, whatever you want.”
I didn’t even know he’d planned to marry my mother.
“I don’t know why exactly. Regina would burn the house down if she knew, but maybe it reminded me of a time when things were simpler. When I was young and in love. Before life got in the way.”
Is anyone truly who they pretend to be?
“Do I look like I’m for sale?”
“You can’t put a price on you,”
“Men would still pay millions, but that has nothing to do with your looks.”
I’ve been walking on a tightrope, and he’s become this steady net beneath me. For some
reason always there when my mind spirals and the world moves too fast.
“Whatever you need to know, ask me.” His voice is steady. “Ask me. Let me talk to you. Make me more than a voice.”
Maybe somehow, my brain connected his voice to safety, some type of positive feedback loop. When I hear him, I feel lighter. Not this heavy, damaged person weighed down by pain.
“What’s our story?”
“You saw me and fell madly in love. Demanded I marry you.”
“Hedi told me to come see the work you were doing for Light. You were finishing up with a class, wearing something old and baggy, overalls or a T-shirt with too many holes in it. And I couldn’t leave without knowing you.”
But a secret part of me wishes it were real, even for just a moment.
“Your tattoo,” he says softly. “Why Medusa?”
“I turn men to stone, why else?”
“I’m trying to decide if I should keep letting you tell me pretty little lies so you can continue pretending.”
“Or tell you that I see right through you.”
“Don’t.” I shake my head slightly, I feel him freeze beneath me. “This isn’t real.”
“Nothing in the dark is,” he mutters, the tip of his nose bumping mine, “If it’s dark, it’s still not real.”
We are no longer covered by the darkness. The light has returned, and so has reality.
Silas Hawthorne had his hands all over me, and even though I was straddling his lap, never once did I think of anything except him. I smelled nothing but his tobacco-and-oak scent. Even in the pitch-black, it was still Silas’s face in my mind. That never wavered for a second.
I’m not afraid of sex with him. I’m scared that it won’t just be sex between us. Not when there is this connection between us.
A whispered language. One he hears when I’m in distress that lets him know how to anchor me. Words that feel like a soothing balm on my skin afte...
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I want Coraline Whittaker.
Coraline wants me to fear her, as if that lovely, dark thing inside of her is something to run from. She’s the only one who can’t see that it’s a siren’s call.
This town tells me I’m dead. For a while, a part of me was. Coraline Whittaker has awoken something in me. Desire, longing, need. An ache I’ve never felt for anyone before. I don’t need her to love me. It isn’t about love.
I need her to be mine.
“You have a crush on one of the nightmarish Hollow Boys in high school, Hex?”
“What do you want?” My voice is a gruff grunt, huskier than normal.
