Page 34 of Ruling Scar
“Don’t mock my mom. You know what she went through.”
My opinions on Leonora’s mother will only upset her, so I remain quiet.
“You want me to be the bad guy,” I guess.
It’s not a bad play. I’m slightly impressed.
And I press my advantage the moment I see it.
“Well, the good news is you won’t be marrying Leopold.”
She snorts. “No shit.”
A grim smirk tugs at my soul and stretches across my face. “Because you’ll marry me instead.”
CHAPTER 9
Lennie
This motherfucker.
Every time I think I have an inkling of who Elijah is, he turns everything on its head.
I thought he’d live in the Ritz. Somewhere with a doorman, for sure. Instead, he bought an entire gutted warehouse and converted the highest floor into an actual cozy living space.
The colors are warm earthy tones. The space is livable with comfortable seating and throw blankets on the back of the couch. There’s a dog bed but he’s unbothered by the giant hairball sitting on the sofa.
I’m amazed at the greenery and mix of books along the shelves. Row after row of Oxford Worlds Classics and the black spines of Penguin Classics. There’s a record player, jazz music playing.
There’s a row of barstools, the kitchen peninsula separating the living room and kitchen. I’d like to open his fridge because I’m curious to know what Elijah eats. I wrongly assumed he dines on the souls of lesser men but turns out he’s human after all.
An open door leads into a dark room. My eyes keep gravitating toward it, wondering if that’s his room. What’s his bedroom like?
But there are more pressing concerns than snooping around.
“I’m going back to Plan A,” I mutter, crossing my arms.
Fuck international incidents. Both Leopold and Elijah can stare down the barrel of Isolde’s gun.
Albert’s soulful eyes peek between us and the furrow of his little brow makes my heart ache.
Okay, maybe I won’t kill his owner, but whatever game Elijah’s playing, I’m not having it.
He smirks, the trademark move irritating me. “Worse matches have been made.”
“I’m not marrying you.”
He hums under his breath, staring off absentmindedly.
“But maybe we could pretend.”
I can’t believe I’m the one who says it.
He looks over, surprised too. But then a feline smirk widens again. “Do you want to court me?”
I try not to roll my eyes. “Do you always have to sound so full of yourself?”
This is possibly the dumbest thing I’ve come up with. But as annoying as Elijah is, I know because of our family connections and history, he won’t hurt me.
