Page 32 of Glitter Rose
My ankle barely twinges when I put weight on it. Another day, maybe two, and I’ll be combat-ready.
The question is, what then?
I run fingers through my damp hair, trying to make it look half-good. Before Paris, everything was clear. Mission parameters. Threat assessment. Action plan. Now I’m standing in a luxury bathroom, thinking about a woman’s green eyes and the curve of her mouth when she smiles.
Thinking about how her eyes glowed when I didn’t laugh at her for talking to a pot, and how she blushes when I call her princess, the flush starting at her cheeks and spreading down her neck.
I grab the sink edge, steadying myself against a wave of… something. Not pain. Not fear. Something worse. Something that feels like the most dangerous thing in this world.
I step out of the bathroom, barefoot and clean, borrowing time in a world that doesn’t offer much of either.
Paris stands at the kitchen counter, her back to me. She’s talking again, not to me. The telescope, I think. Telly, she called it. Unlike the strawberry plant outside, which she calls Freddie. Her voice rises and falls in the cadence of actual conversation, as if it might answer back. Maybe in her world, it does.
“I know, I know,” she murmurs. “But he had a nightmare. About the woman he loves and lost. I can’t just?—”
She doesn’t hear me approach. I stop three feet behind her, close enough to catch her fucking floral scent mixed with the earthiness of her garden. Her hair falls to one side, exposing her elegant neck.
Delicate. Vulnerable.
My fingers itch to touch that spot. To brush against the soft skin. To press my lips there and feel her pulse jump under my mouth.
Woah. Hold it.
What the fuck am I thinking again?
Back at Iron Gate, there are plenty of women. Attractive, willing women who don’t talk to plants or wear glitter eyeshadow. Women who understand the rules of survival. Women who don’t make me feel like I’m free-falling every time they smile.
I’ve never been tempted. Not once. So why now? Why this maddening, impossible woman who makes me question every decision I’ve made since the world ended?
“Anyway, he’ll be leaving soon.” She stops whatever she is doing, her words coming out slower. “And then it’ll just be us again. The way it’s supposed to be.”
Supposed to be? Huh? I clear my throat.
She whirls around, knife in hand, eyes wide. “Fuck!” Shebumps against the counter. “Make some noise, would you? Bells, maybe? A warning cough?”
“Sorry.” I’m not. I like seeing her startled. It breaks through that princess armor she wears.
Her eyes dart away. “How long… were you standing there?”
“Long enough to know Telly’s a good listener.”
“You spying on me now?” She grips the knife tighter, eyes narrowing.
“Hard not to overhear.” My gaze drops to the blade in her hand. “Planning to stab me?”
She glances down like she’s forgotten she’s armed. “Oh.” The knife clatters onto the counter. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry.” I move closer, her body tensing with each step I take. “So, I’m leaving soon, huh?”
Her cheeks flush that perfect shade of pink I’ve come to expect. “Your ankle’s better. You said two days or three.”
“And you’re counting down the minutes?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Didn’t have to.” I reach past her for an apple from the bowl, my arm brushing hers. She doesn’t step back. Interesting. “How about you let me help with dinner tonight? As compensation for you going out alone.”
She shifts her weight, hip jutting out, a half-step away from me. “Compensation?”
