Page 22 of The Villain's Beloved (The Villain's Duet 2)

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“Tell me about her.”

“About who?” Elijah stepped up behind me, easing up the zipper of my dress.

“Saint’s wife.”

“Milana.” He brushed his palms down the sides of my arms. “She’s lovely. The exact opposite of Saint.”

“Opposites attract. Like us.” Our gazes locked in the mirror, a silent moment that conveyed so much without a word being spoken.

He placed a tender kiss on the nape of my neck, and I closed my eyes as his warm breath caressed my skin. “I think it has been proven time and time again that you and I,” he glanced up at our reflection, “aren’t that different after all.”

The air was suddenly laden with tension, my body hyperaware of how close he was. The soft fabric of his suit jacket touched my arms, and for a second I regretted insisting that we accept Saint’s invitation to join them for dinner. I’d much rather be Elijah’s fuck toy right now, than his plus one.

God. He was right. We weren’t that different—not since I chose to embrace my most wicked desires Elijah so expertly awoke.

“You look beautiful.”

I shivered as his hands traveled over my waist, fingers stroking the fabric of my midnight-blue dress. The full-length, halter-neck chiffon dress wasn’t something I’d choose for myself. Not because I didn’t like it, but simply because I couldn’t afford the price tag on the Vera Wang evening dress. But Elijah had insisted that I choose at least three dresses from the collection he had brought to our suite from the hotel’s boutique. From the three, I could see by his wicked grin this was the one he fancied the most.

I eased my palms down the silk. “I’m not used to dressing up like this.” I glanced around, the four-post bed and its white drapes the center-point of this vastly luxurious room. “This is all…” I let out a breath, “this is all so much to take in. To get used to.”

“Is it something you want to get used to?” He studied me from underneath his lashes, his gaze intense and curious.

“What do you mean?”

He shot his cuffs, straightening his navy suit jacket. Elijah pinned me with his gaze, shoulders squared as his dominant presence engrossed me. “I mean, if you had a choice right now—which you don’t,” his head slanted to the side, “would you pick this life…with me?”

There was no correct answer to this question. Countless nights I had lain awake thinking about it—whether, if given a choice, I’d choose him. The truth was a mindfuck, but the lie was even worse.

The weight of it made me look down, afraid I might get lost within the swirl of his dark irises—a dark vortex I had given up on fighting yet still feared.

“It doesn’t matter.” I turned to look at my reflection again. “We’re too deep into this for my answer to change anything.”

“If I demanded it?”

I twined my fingers together in front of me. “Would you?” I faced him. “Demand an answer?”

“I might.”

“Will you be able to handle the answer?”

He shrugged. “That depends whether I like it or not.”

I licked my lips, nervous tension settling in my shoulders. “What would you do if you…didn’t like it?”

“I’d still keep you.” There was no hesitation, and no doubt about what his intentions were if I had answered no, saying I wouldn’t choose this world, living this life with him.

“Then there’s no reason for me to give you an answer, is there?”

He picked up the bottle of perfume that stood on the bedside table, tracing his fingers along the delicate glass bubble before handing it to me. “Maybe it would make me feel like less of a monster if I knew you’d pick me.”

It was one of those pivotal moments that changed the sequence of my thoughts, as if it lifted the veil that blinded me all this time.

Elijah Mariano had so many layers to him, so many complexities that it was easy for me to look past it all, only seeing The Musician. The man who kidnapped me. The man who seduced me, and ultimately stole my heart. But for the first time, I saw a man who needed security as much as I did. Who needed reassurance as to how I felt about him. Even though he made it abundantly clear that whether I felt that way or not, he wouldn’t let me go—which I believed—deep down he wanted to know that when given a choice I’d choose him. Like me wanting to know that I was more to him than just a debt he needed to settle.

Elijah turned to walk away when I called out, “Ask me again.”

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