She made a noise that could be interpreted as negative, so he took off his coat and came towards her instead. At the last minute, she turned around and let him place it on her shoulders.
“I swear to you, Cora, I’m not a monster.” Standing so close and breathing in her familiar scent, he could almost believe it.
He’d done great and terrible things to ensure the stability of his city and they’d rightly named him King of the Underworld. He’d soullessly embodied the title for years, holding the wicked in his iron grip so the weak didn’t suffer unduly. It was purpose enough, he’d told himself. It was atonement for failing to protect his sister all those years ago.
But Cora had burst into his black and white world in an explosion of vibrant color. She’d thawed the ice in his heart and he couldn’t go back. Not once he knew what it was like to love her and feel her love in return.
He felt her body tremble at his closeness. “Come back to me,” he breathed in the shell of her ear.
When she shook her head, he could feel her hair catch on the rough stubble of his chin.
“You’re not safe on your own. Without me.”
“People don’t think I’m safe with you.” She squeezed her eyes shut like if she closed them long enough, he’d go away.
Instead, he turned her gently towards him, and tipped her face to his.
“Who?”
“My friends,” she replied, a little breathless.
“Olivia Jandali?” Marcus gritted out. He’d looked into both her roommates. “Or the stripper? Your so-called friends who left you with AJ? I don’t need to tell you what I think of their judgment.”
Cora stiffened. He felt it, and his hands fell away.
“I want you back. I need you close to me, where I know I can keep you safe. I know we can work things out, if we just talk—”
She whirled to face him. “This is why I left, Marcus. You try to control me. You can’t let me be.”
“I haven’t called or spoken to you in months.”
“And you corner me and ask—no—tell me to come back to you. I left because I’d had enough of that. You can’t control me.”
She wrenched off the suit jacket and thrust it back at him. When he didn’t take it, she spun around and draped it over the parapet before leaning against the cool stone again. She gazed into the garden, stubbornly angling her body away from him.
Pushing her more tonight wasn’t going to get him anywhere. But she needed to know he wasn’t giving up. Not even remotely. She’d given him a taste of paradise, him who’d lived so long in hell. He wouldn’t live without her. He couldn’t.
“You can’t run forever,” he said finally. “We’ll talk again in a few days.” Before she could say anything else to contradict him, he turned on his heel and went back through the double doors into the mansion.
He’d allow her the illusion of choice for a little while longer.
Four
The party was over; the last guest had gone home along with most of the staff. Cora sat in a sea of blue green feathers, packing the decorations away into their proper boxes and trying not to think about Marcus. She felt buzzed, exhaustion pushing her to the point where she didn’t feel tired anymore. Sparring with Marcus hadn’t helped.
It wasn’t only him, though. Ever since that night, she hadn’t been sleeping. Work wore her down enough she’d been able to get a few hours of sleep sometimes; today she’d gotten two hours in as a midday nap before coming back to attend the party and she considered that a win.
Armand strolled up, hands in pocket, a leather satchel over one shoulder. Like her, he’d changed out of his formal clothes.
“Still cleaning up?” He smiled down at her, watching her wrap the feathers in tissue paper.
“Trying to get as much packed for the movers tomorrow.” She looked up at him, trying to gauge his mood. Standing there, hair mussed and deep circles under his eyes, he looked like a hardworking spa owner, not a devilish flirt.
“You mean today. It’s almost dawn.”
She nodded.
“I’m surprised you’re not scrubbing the floor, Cinderella.” Armand jerked his head to indicate the spot where Anna had given an impromptu performance earlier. Then his eyes got a little glossy. “Your friend is really something.”
Cora smiled at him. “Yes she most definitely is. Don’t worry, my staff cleaned the floor. If the hosts complain, my company will pay for the damages.”
“It’ll be fine, Cora.” Armand squatted down near her, putting his satchel to the side.
She smirked at him. “Nice purse.”
“Thanks. It’s not a purse though, too manly.”
“Right. It’s a man purse. A murse.” She stopped and scrubbed a hand over her face as a wave of sleepiness hit her.
“When was the last time you slept?”
“I got a few hours earlier today.” Cora closed the box she was working on and started filling the next one. Armand scooted closer to help.
“And before that? Are you getting enough rest?”
“I’m sleeping. At least a few hours a night. Usually.”
“Insomnia is a symptom of another condition. Probably mental.”
“It’s definitely mental. I’ve been getting these crazy dreams.” Cora tried to laugh it off but the sound came out pathetic.
“You going to go see someone about it?”
“Maybe.” By which she meant no.
Armand sighed. He lifted a peacock feather and stroked down it’s spine with a long finger before Cora reached over and plucked it away.
“I’m still mad at you.” She pointed at him with the feather. “You colluded with the enemy.”
Armand leveled her with his gaze. “Your husband is not your enemy. He only wanted to see you.” He grabbed at the feather and Cora danced the frond away. “It was long overdue. You two talk things out?”
“Not really. We’re supposed to talk in a few days.” Cora lay the feather down and folded it in tissue paper.
“Well, that’s progress, I guess.” Armand crossed his legs and settled down on the floor facing her. “What did you two do up there, anyway?” He waggled his thick eyebrows at her.
“Stop it, or I’ll beat you with your murse,” she threatened. “We just talked. Why, were you hoping we went somewhere and he made wild, wild love to me?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Well, all the bedroom doors were locked. Which reminds me. Who owns this place?”
“This old palace?” Armand shrugged. “Belongs to my family.”
Cora’s mouth dropped open, looking across the acre of finely polished wood squares leading to the plush red and gold staircase. “Are you kidding me?”
“This, my lady, is the original Merche family home.” He raised his hand and swiped it as if to dismiss the vast ballroom.
“Merche? Like the company?” She mentally scrolled through the last things she’d read about the telecom company and the family that still controlled it. “As in Louis Merche? The head of the telecom company by the same name.” Her eyes widened as she realized something. “Full name Louis Armand Merche.”