Page 84 of His Pretty Little Duet

“Jasmine has packed a suitcase for her,” he says, and I suck a sharp breath in, feeling sadness like a swamp rising around my feet. I was going to leave anyway, so it’s good he has made this easier. It’s really fucking convenient, actually. Now I don’t even need to pretend I am here for any reason other than the pregnancy... I don’t need to pretend... Defiant tears rise behind my eyes, and fill my throat, tightening it. I want to scream into the pillow, but he continues, “I’ve told Vinny that you will lead discussions with?—"

“What have you done?” she cuts in, and I can almost hear the steam bursting from his ears at the audacity of being interrupted. I don’t care, though. I wish I could fall asleep; wish I didn’t have to listen to him discard me like?—

Strained exasperation leaves him on an exhale. “I am delegating, Aurora. Isn’t that what you advised me to do?”

“They won’t respect?—"

“They damn well will respect you, Aurora!” he snaps, and I don’t think I’ve heard his voice break in that manner before. Not steady and measured at all. Twisted like a live wire, sparking at the edges of his resolve. I want to shuffle from the mere sound of it, feeling acutely awake now, but I’m nervous my movements will bring a fresh wave of pain.

His voice deepens and lowers as he says, “You aremywife andgoddamnCosa Nostraroyalty. That stands for something.You need to stop this nonsense. Jimmy is dead. You are his legacy. Demand respect from them.”

“Where will you take her?” Aurora asks with a sigh.

“I’ll be taking her away for a few days,” he states, and I sit up immediately, twisting with wide eyes to face him, finding his sharp, knowing gaze already trained to mine. “You breathe deeper when you are asleep, little deer.”

“Where are you taking me?”

Aurora risks a quick glance at Clay before looking at me again. “I’ll take my leave,” she says, smiling softly. “I’m sorry for your loss, Fawn. These things are never fair.”

“I didn’t want him anyway,” I mutter, but the strangled sob that breaches my throat betrays that obvious deflection.

“Tough little thing, aren’t you?” She walks through the door, saying, “You would have been a force to be reckoned with if you grew up in our world. Where you belonged.”

Where Ibelonged? “Belong...” I whisper, playing with the syllables, the phonetics.

I set my eyes on Clay once more. My heart skips a beat, no, an entire track, at the sight of him. He’s leaning forward on his knees, hands clasped together, cradling his chin, blue flakes in every hue glowing within his eyes. I’m not sure if my heart will find its way back on the same tracks when he is gone. Forever hurtling through the wasteland inside me where he used to reside. A glimpse of affection—at everything.“It’s only a matter of time before you tell me to leave. Why can’t we just get it over with?”

He rises to his feet in one smooth movement, and I hold my breath as he approaches me with those powerful, measured steps. “I won’t be asking you to leave.”

“So...” A sad derisive laugh breaks from my lips. “You’re married to the business, Sir. Not to mention literally married. What am I?”

His knuckles stroke lines down my cheek, and I close my eyes to fall further into the intensity of that sensation. “You belong to me, sweet girl.”

Belong.

I remember when I thought that belonging to him would be the sweetest of existences, and I was right. A girl like me should be content just having tasted such sweetness, but it makes little sense. And I’m a survivor first but tumbling helplessly behind that is the dastardly trait I inherited from my mother—hopeless romantic.

“Why?” I hear myself ask. I flick my eyes open, crashing with the intensity in his. “Why? I have nothing to offer you, and you have everything. I get you felt responsible for me before, but without the baby, I just don’t buy it. What do you want from me? Because I’ll be honest, Sir, I won’t survive much more of this. You’re saying things you don’t mean and making me stupidly hopeful for a future with you in it. You are making me weak. Reliant.” My throat clogs up with tears, my voice stuttering, emotion rising to a panicked crescendo as the truth falls from between my lips. “I won’t survive the day you drop me, Sir, because my entire world is starting to centre around you, and I’m fucking scared that I’ll have nothing left inside me once you pull yourself out! So, tell me. Tell me why! Why me!”

Possessiveness ghosts across his eyes as he lifts his hand to clasp my jaw, before leaning down and pressing his lips to mine, soft, warm, safe; a lingering kiss that seems to branch out to every cell within me. His deep, rumbling hum pulses through me. His mouth feels like a gift.

Even after he breaks away, straightening, I’m left with waves of dizzying euphoria. “Do you remember what you said to me when you were sedated, sweet girl? The way youmockedme.” I swallow down the lump that forms as his eyes shift dangerously over my face. “I told you that if you didn’t like something, to useyour voice. You did. And you were right. I don’t know who I am outside of this business. I’ve spent my whole life on one path, with one destination. I have known exactly what to do and where to be. I knew every turn.” His brilliant blue gaze softens, and I see him... I seeClay.“Fawn.Why you? Because when I’m with you, my sweet girl, I’m lost. And I quite enjoy that.”

Sentiment holds us entranced until a man wearing a white coat and one of those bouncing rubber pocket watches strides through the door. I break eye contact to peer over Clay’s shoulder as the man suddenly stops, seeing Clay towering over me. “Sorry. Should I come back, Mr Butcher?”

Barely heeding him, Clay keeps his eyes locked on my face, saying, “No. Now is fine, Price.”

The nervous-looking doctor approaches my bed, stopping at the foot and resting his hands on the railing. I cuddle my waist protectively, not having pleasant experiences with men in uniforms. Clay’s brows furrow as he assesses my defensive response. “How do you feel, young lady?”

“Miss Harlow,” Clay states, a subtle bite to his words.

The doctor laughs once through his nerves. “Sorry, of course. Miss Harlow, how do you feel today?”

“Fine,” I say with a sad shrug, but it is just a little drop in the ocean of all the emotions I am awash with now. “Normal.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss. We looked at the boy. He was small. It was nothing you did, and nothing could have been done. Our bodies know when things aren’t right,” he says, and I try to fight the roll of my eyes. It is such a line. So, my baby wasn’t right? Cool, thanks for letting me know. I feel so much better now. “You’ll be bleeding for a while. Ultimately, you’re just having a heavy period. Do you have supplies?”

Clay answers, “Yes,” and I try not to glow crimson. God, please tell me he didn’t buy me tampons. Aurora bought them, surely. I can cope with that. Flashing behind my eyes is theimage of Clay Butcher purchasing tampons like he does stocks or illegal weapons, with effortless authority. Well researched. Tested. Measured. I inwardly cringe, turning towards the window as my embarrassment creeps up my neck and envelops my entire face.

---