Page 90 of God of War (Legacy of Gods)

“Your attempts to keep me off alcohol. You can drink, you know.”

“And present you with temptation? I’ll have to decline.”

Your existence is the worst temptation, so I don’t see the problem.

I press my lips together, furious at myself for even entertaining that thought.

Clearing my throat, I nibble on a piece of bread with butter. “Can I ask you something?”

“Since when do you need permission to ask me anything?”

“True.” I shrug. “How did I get off my…alcohol issues?”

“Alcohol addiction, you mean.”

“It wasn’tthatserious.”

“It was serious enough that you were more drunk than sober.”

“Yeah, well. Not all of us have the mental capacity of a sociopath. I don’t need you to judge me. I only want to know how I got off it. Did I undergo rehab?”

“Do you believe yourself to be the type of person who’d willingly admit themselves to rehab?”

My knife and bread suspend in midair as I purse my lips. He’s mocking me. I can see it in that tinge of amusement mixed with savage interest in his eyes.

But if I get in a row with him, there’s no way I’ll be able to execute my plan.

So I take a sip of water to douse the burning need to claw his throat. “If it wasn’t rehab, then what was it?”

“A less conventional method.”

“Like tying me up to a bed and forcing me to take medication?”

His eyes narrow and I think I catch a muscle clenching in his jaw, but the change is so fleeting that I barely notice it before he reverts to his normal façade. “Is this another one of your dreams?”

“Daydream.”

“A dream all the same.”

“It felt real.”

“You also said slicing your own throat and watching yourself die in the mirror felt real.”

My hands tremble and I have to drop the bread and knife on the plate, its clink loud in the relative silence. “How…the hell do you know that? No one does.”

“I do.”

“How?”

“You told me.”

“I don’t believe it. There’s no way in hell I’d confide in you.”

“We’ve been married for over two years, Mrs. King. I know more about you than you might think.”

“I’d neverevershare something so intimate with you.”

“You’d be surprised.” His jaw tightens again and he sips on the revolting fake champagne, savoring it as if it’s centuries-old French wine.

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