Page 124 of His Pretty Little Duet

He grips my jaw gently, moving my face until my eyes relent and meet his—crystal-clear blue orbs bordered by dark lashes. Breathtaking. Commanding. "We have been over this."

"I know," I say, disappointment coiled around my tone. "I know.It's not safe.I guess I'll have more clothes brought up, or perhaps I'll cook that pork belly again or watch another movie or hang out with Jas?—"

His brows weave. "This doesn't please you?"

"I should be grateful," I mutter honestly, although the humility is seemingly a tatted echo in my mind. I want to want things. I want to demand them. Yet, there is this voice, the same outdated voice, a small and breathy resonance, that reminds me to accept, to shrink myself, to fit in.

He steels. Then pushes off the bed, striding over to the dressing room, the lights growing at his presence. "I'm taking care of you, little deer." He speaks to the room as he dresses. "What do you want? Use your voice. Tell me."

I sit up and watch him. "I don't know."

His phone comes to life, cutting through the air like a knife severing our conversation. I frown as he stares at it. "Whatever you desire, I will do. Think about what you want." He grabs his suit jacket and the phone as it rings perpetually.

Then he approaches the bed, leaning down on his hands, his shoulders rolling, his chin dipping so his lips can take mine. His intent is a quick, firm, breathtaking kiss, but I know this, so I cup his strong jaw to demand more than a moment of goodbye. Deepening the motion of his lips, I channel all my want into them until a groan moves through his throat.

He breaks our kiss, his lips hovering close, commanding mine to stay still as he talks against them. "I want a list. Think on it. You will tell me what you want, sweet girl, and I promise to give it to you.”

He vanishes through the door, and I'm left confused. I don’t know what I want. Does he think I'm withholding something? Is that a thing? Like the charades of my intentions?

I don’t know who I am.

How am I supposed to know what I want?

The water of the swimming pool ripples as I swing my legs through it and watch distractedly as the substance twinkles and moves below the sun.

What do I want?

I'm learning to cook, which sings to my maternal side, and I know I won't be locked in this resort-like gilded cage forever, just until he finds my dad… Andkills him.I swallow thickly, clearing my throat as heavy footsteps pour down the path.

"Fucksake," Henchman Jeeves pants, dropping forward with his hands to his knees.

My henchman/butler/rat…

Not happy with you.

He breathes through a kind of panic, having exerted himself to the point he's vibrating to get air.

Three guards are now halting from their run behind him, sighing with relief when they see me sitting unfazed by the poolside.

I blink at the dishevelled men. "What?"

Henchman Jeeves catches his breath before saying, "For the love of God, how did you get down here?"

And I know it was stupid and that Clay won't approve, but I don't lie when I answer, "I climbed down the fire escape on my balcony."

"She's going to get us killed," one of the henchmen hisses, spinning and sauntering off, curses soaring around him.

Henchman Jeeves slowly shakes his head. "Why?Why would you do something so dangerous and?—"

I shrug, interrupting petulantly. "Looked like fun? The ladder is perfectly safe. It isn't like I climbed down a fuckingdrainpipe. I wasn’t escaping. The ladder is right there on the side of the balcony. I just had to climb over the railing."

The remaining henchman grumbles behind him, wiping his rigidly set brow. "Don't tell the boss, Fawn, or…" His voice continues to run, but the words are mumbled through annoyed breath.

Henchman Jeeves frowns at him, scolding him with one snap of his gaze. "Miss Harlow." He turns back to me and offers me a faux smile. "It would be best if you don't tell the boss that you were by the poolside alone."

Fawn.I don't correct him and ask him to call me by my given name. He slips up often, but I know he must call me Miss Harlow now. I don't even know who Miss Harlow is, really. It doesn't seem like my name; I never felt like a Harlow. I was hoping to find my identity as a Nerrock. And I'll probably never be a Butcher… I sigh. "Would you get fired?"

Shaking his head slowly, he laughs without mirth. "Iwishthe answer was yes."

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