Page 102 of Phantom
“Jaime loves you as a friend, Scarlett,” I insist. Deep down, I know this is hopeless, but I won’t give up. “His job was to watch you andprotectyou. The way he went about it wasn’t part of the job description. Befriending you was true to his nature.”
“And what about his ‘nature’ made it so no guy would look at me for the last year? Or was that part of his ‘job description’ only to sate your jealous obsession? Your… your primitive instincts!”
I step forward, huddling her into the wall. Even though she’s mad at me, and even though I’m horrifying to look at right now, that small, pink muscle in her mouth darts out to lick her lips as she holds my heated gaze.
“You crave those primitive instincts, Scarlett. And you love being my jealous obsession. Don’t let your anger turn you into a liar. Think about it.” My voice pitches low and my hope returns when I cradle her cheek and she shivers with pleasure. “You’re right, I don’t want anyone to touch you. You had to be off-limits or else I wouldn’t have been able to control myself. My position in the darkness would’ve made you an easy target for enemies to manipulate my emotions. Beyond that, not every shadow knew who you were to me and if someone touched what was mine, I’d have had to hurt them, no matter who they were, and I never harm my own if I can help it.”
Hatred flares in her eyes again and she swats my hand away. “Not harm your own? What about Jaime then?”
My head jolts back at the topic change. “What about him?”
“He sure didn’t look unharmed with the skull imprinted over his cheek.” She grabs my hand and shows me my own ring. “This size to be exact. Just like that tourist who says the Phantom of the French Quarter knocked him out.”
“Scarlett, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Only a betrayal is punished with violence. It’s not the Bordeaux way. I’d never hurt Jaime after everything he’s done for me and you, but the tourist fucking deserved it. How do you even know about that?”
She falters at that question before blurting out an answer I’m not sure is totally truthful. “It was in the news! But what about me? Am I someone you would never hurt? I’m not one of yours. Your brother made that quite clear.”
“You’re not one of ours, yet. But you aremineand under my protection.”
“What if I need protection from you, hm? So I don’t think I’m crazy? So I don’t believe someone is my friend for over a year? So I can live my life without being manipulated and tricked? Or can you not let go of your ‘key to everything,’ yet?”
“Scarlett—”
“You are a monster. Rand was right about everything. Are you using me to get to him, too?”
My eyes widen. “When did he say that? Yesterday? I thought you said you barely talked?”
I knew she was lying to me, but I’d hoped she’d come to me with answers in time. Apparently, our timing fucking sucks.
“He probably would’ve told me earlier if you hadn’t had my phone the whole time! But yes. He bumped into me when he was visiting his brother’s grave, which he says you’re responsible for, too, by the way.”
Alarm bells blare in my head. “Scarlett, we were at St. Louis Cemetery No.1. Rand’s family isn’t—”
“He said you’re using me to get to him. Has this all been to get back at the Chatelains? Because I’m his friend and his family did something unspeakable to your family and vice versa and back and forth until everyone dies, right? Well, at least the Chatelains have only helped me. They supported my dad. Paid for our housing and they were there for me even after my dad died by paying for my room and board for school.”
“What the fuck, Scarlett?” I laugh at the absurdity. “Do you really think theChatelainspaid for your room and board atmyfamily’s school? The Bordeaux scholarship you received after your father died set you up in the only room in the New French Opera House that directly tunnels to my apartment. Think about it.”
Confusion tries to twist the anger away in her features. I brush a curl from her face and enjoy the way her body still leans into me while her mind fights me.
“Why do you insist on hating me, Scarlett? Why do you insist on seeing me as the enemy when all I’ve done is protect you?”
“Not protect me.” She shakes her head. “You manipulated me.”
“I encouraged you.”
“You owned me.”
“Iloveyou.”
The angry retort on her lips dies with my murmured confession. She shakes her head and slides along the wall to get out from underneath my direct gaze.
“You’re not in love with me. You’re obsessed with me,” she whispers finally, although she seems much less sure of herself. “There’s a difference.”
I tilt my head. “There might be a difference, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be both. You’ve been in theater for years, so you know. Obsession and love make the best stories.”
“Or the most tragic ones.”
She drags her hand along the wall as she retreats toward her room. Every step is slow and reluctant. Like she’s trying to convince her body to commit to the wrong actions.
