Page 103 of Phantom
“It’s up to you to decide which story is ours,” I finally reply. “If you stay, I promise to give you the best love story ever told, every day, for the rest of our lives. I was forced into the shadows, and I’ve made my home here. But I’ve only ever wanted to share a life with someone. Like my parents shared. The kind of love that consumes you in life and leaves you a shell when the other goes too soon. I used to feel sorry for my mother, but some days she gets to escape to a world where the love of her life still exists. He’s not just a phantom, he is her everything. I want to be that for you, with you. I want one love that survives this lifetime.”
Her head slowly shakes. “What you’re describing is madness, Sol.”
“Is madness so terrible, when euphoria is on the other side?”
“It is when you lose yourself in it and it makes you behave in ways you never would otherwise.”
“Isn’t that the definition of love?”
Her sigh weighs me down and I sag my shoulder against the wall.
“I don’t know,” she answers. “But I do know that I can’t have that with you. The man I’m with won’t use me like a pawn.”
My heart threatens to burst out of my chest as our gaze breaks, and I grab her hand.
Her moonlight eyes flick to my hand before meeting mine.
“I’ve never used you, Scarlett, but it terrifies me that you don’t realize you’re Rand Chatelain’s pawn right now. He’s playing you. I don’t know what happened to Jaime. I’ll get to the bottom of it. But Rand feeding you lies? I would think you could see right through that.”
“Okay, what happened then?” she asks me. “Did you have something to do with Laurent’s death? His parents?”
“Not his parents. His parents’ accident was a tragedy to the Chatelains but the Bordeauxs had nothing to do with it, despite what Rand and his brother thought. As for Laurent…” I let go of her and stand straighter. “Yes, I killed Laurent. I killed him for what he did to my family. And to me.”
“Rand made it sound like it was a senseless act of violence. Not retribution.”
“Not retribution?” I bark. “What about my face?” I point to the scars that web over the right side before I grab the back of my collar and pull my shirt over my head. “What about my chest? My arms? And my back?”
Her eyes flare with heat before I rotate, showing her the cuts, the burn marks, and every inch of the desensitized skin I’ve tattooed to remind me that my body is mine to mark. After Laurent Chatelain skinned me, sending strips to my brother as a morbid ‘proof of life,’ he burned me to stop excessive bleeding. It all grew back in jagged, glossy pieces of varying shades of red and white, like a gruesome jigsaw puzzle.
By the time I’ve done a three-sixty, the disgust I knew she would feel overwhelms her expression. “I told you I conquered my fear of fire. I did it because it was used against me when I was fifteen years old, and I’ve been like this ever since.”
“Laurent… he did this to you?”
“Gladly,” I grunt. “Do you still believe what I did was unjustified? Do you still believe that Rand has your best interests at heart? Like I do?”
“Does Rand know? What did he do?”
“Of course, Rand knows. He fled as soon as he could, like the coward he is.”
She frowns. “So after you killed his brother and the rest of his family was dead, instead of retaliating, he ran away from the conflict?” When I don’t answer, she continues her questioning. “He’s back now. Do you know why?”
“I don’t know. He says it’s to rebuild his family’s business—”
“So… not revenge.”
“Maybe. I’m not sure. But Rand is Laurent’s brother, and Laurent was pure evil—”
“That… that was Laurent, though. Not Rand. Rand wouldn’t… he was—is—my friend. You can’t punish him for what his brother did.”
It’s not lost on me that I thought something very similarly only days ago, but that was before Scarlett was at stake. Now I don’t know what to think.
“I didn’t believe it at first, but now my instincts are telling me there’s more to Rand. You have to be careful with him, Scarlett. I’m trying to figure it all out. You need to stay away from him until I do.”
She scowls and I know I’ve overplayed my hand.
“It’s not your job to tell me what I can and can’t do. Listen, I… I have to go. I’m confused and I need to think about all this. Away from you.”
“When will I see you again?” I ask, unable to help myself. “You still have your gig at Masque on Friday. Will I see you then?”
