Page 24 of Wicked Believer
Imani gives a curt nod, but I’m ... taken aback to find I wish the apology was directed to me. And it’s that thought alone that makes my next words even more vicious, even more brutal.
“You want my blessing? Then earn it,” I challenge. “We both know you’ve always been desperate for my approval.”
“Lucifer,” Imani gasps, prepared to come to my fiancée’s defense.
But Charlotte merely shakes her head, her lower lip trembling as the whole restaurant seems to still.
For a moment, I question if perhaps I’ve made a mistake challenging her to be the immortal I know she can be. The immortal I know she soon will be.
Like her heart was forged in hellfire and wrapped in steel.
“Fine,” she whispers, her eyes suddenly misty. The waitstaff soon return to their duties. “Fine. You want me to earn your approval, I’ll do it. Imani and I will put a proposal together.” With a shaking hand, she lifts her water glass off the table, a distraction, so she doesn’t have to look at me. “What was the second thing?” she asks meekly.
Imani purses her lips. “I don’t think it’s wise if we—”
“The wedding,” I say, cutting her off.
Charlotte freezes mid-movement. “I’m sorry?”
“I think I better leave you two to discuss thisalone.”
Imani retrieves her purse, casting me a scathing look, but Charlotte quickly stays her with little more than a hand.
“Will you wait for me downstairs please?” she mutters. “I’d like to speak with you alone.”
Imani nods before leaving.
The moment she’s gone, Charlotte turns her attention to me, and the glare she levels at me is so reflective of my own, it cuts whatever words I might have deigned to say short.
“What do you mean ‘the wedding’?”
I lift my whisky glass, swirling its amber contents. “Our impending nuptials, of course. It’ll be the event of this millennium, naturally. A good distraction for humanity.”
She blinks at me, gaping. “We’re ... not even engaged. Not for real.”
I frown, taking another sip. “Last time I checked, that’s my ring you’re wearing, is it not? My cock you’re begging for each evening?”
She flushes, placing her ring finger out of view beneath the table. “You know better than anyone that sleeping together doesn’t mean we have to get married. Not unless we’re suddenly taking your Father’s words to heart.” Reluctantly she glances down at her hands, then back to me, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. “He ... doesn’t actually care about that, does He?”
My Father couldn’t care less about sex out of wedlock, but the bastardized lessons of His “blessed” human Bible still haunt her regularly.
I press my lips into a hard line, tracing the rim of my glass with my finger. I nod to where her ring hand rests in her lap. “I forged that diamond myself in the fires of Hell, you know.”
The admission seems to catch her off guard.
She sighs, fiddling with her crucifix necklace, one of the few personal items she retrieved after her father’s funeral. For a moment, she gazes out the window past me, eyes unfocused, the whole of the city beneath her feet. Finally she reaches across the table for my hand, her voice softening.
“Lucifer, it’s not that I ...” Her other hand toys absently with her necklace as she swallows. “It’s not that I don’t want to marry you,” she whispers, hesitating in a way that would make me doubt the truth in her words if her lies didn’t have such a distinct taste.
If I couldn’t feelexactlywhat she’s feeling.
“Idowant to marry you,” she admits, looking up from our joined hands as she meets my gaze in earnest. “Desperately. But you ... you haven’t even asked me. Not for real, I mean.”
An unamused smile pulls at my lips. “Ah, you want a proper proposal, I see.”
She nods vehemently.
I lean back in my seat once more, releasing her hand as my voice goes flat. “Is this hesitation about the other night? Your newfound powers? Your immortality?”
