Page 46 of Obsession

He sits opposite to me, at the other end of a table that could easily sit thirty. It’s so long that I wonder if I’ll even be able to hear him if we speak at base volume. Neither of us have spoken yet, so I haven’t been able to test the theory.

Aris continues to eye me in an off-putting way, like he can’t decide whether he wants to kiss me or kill me. Either is equally likely, and I wish he would just pick one and get it over with.

To settle my nerves, I take a drink, recalling his face when he mentioned Jaegen on the bell tower. He was bothered and brought up dinner in response. Why? A part of me is braced, expecting something.

The temperature is normal, which is good. The air gets frigid around Aris when he’s in a mood, just as it heats around Jaegen if he’s upset. Still, temperature isn’t necessarily indicative of his emotions. I can’t let my guard down.

I take another drink. The wine is incredible, probably older than I am. It could be imagined, but I feel it flood through me, the alcohol strengthening my resolve and nerves, dulling my senses. I should slow down, considering my empty stomach, but I have it in my head that the more I drink, the braver I’ll be.

And I need courage.

In Aris’ hands is his own chalice. I’ve no idea why he’s poured himself a glass, since he refuses to eat or drink, but it’s filled with wine. The way he swings it around, it looks like a prop, and he moves it so sloppily that red liquid sloshes over the rim.

He looks handsome—I can admit that. He’s dressed to the nines in a black suit and tie, tailored to accentuate his lean, powerful body. His dark hair is combed back, revealing luminescent, striking features.

Through the dim light, I notice Aris’ lips upturn, self-satisfied. He likes that I’m watching him.

Embarrassed, I set my cup down and begin to cut my food, for lack of anything else to do. The meat is a little raw, as it tends to be when prepared by the chefs here. At first, I found it disgusting, but I’ve grown used to it. I prepare a bite of steak with the potatoes as the wine begins to settle, flushing my skin.

Suddenly, Aris sets his glass down, hard enough that liquid again floods over the side, staining the table cloth. The chalice doesn’t break by miracle alone.

I take my bite and then set down my utensils.

Waiting.

We stare at each other for a few long moments. There are clearly words on the tip of his tongue, but Aris keeps them to himself, face twisted from effort.

“Why would you turn to him?” he finally says, and I realize then how long he’s held these words back.

It’s been eating at him for a month.

In hindsight, I see the moments he almost asked this—how he has turned to me, looking at me intently, almost angrily. How his lips opened, then shut. How he then turned away.

He should have just asked earlier; it’s a stupid question. Why turn to Jaegen? Why work against Aris?

My eyes narrow. “You’ve brought me nothing but pain.”

Aris scoffs, leaning back in his chair. “Pain.”

I can tell what he’s thinking: Like she even knows it.

I can do so much worse.

I poke at my meat and imagine it’s him I’m stabbing, but a fork would do nothing. I think of the bullets that hit him in Germany and fell to the ground, crushed flat like pennies, and I set down the utensil to rub at my temples, shutting my eyes. I realize this dinner for what it is: a confrontation.

The air is heavy.

“If Jaegen approached me, why wouldn’t I help him after everything you’ve done?”

“Look at me.”

I do.

His gaze is harsh, almost feverish in its intensity. “Always look at me,” he demands.

“I’m looking,” I say primly.

His smile is strained, and he nods once, sharply—content, so long as I give my attention.

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