I shouldn't bring it up. It's late. I can barely breathe, much less think. I blurt out, "You were with women...you..." I can't continue.
He spins me on him. "I have not been with any women besides you."
"I saw the photos. They were there tonight."
"Emilia, who are you talking about?"
"The women with the President." My gut twists, thinking about the vile man. His eyes, his breath, his voice, I can't escape. "Bernadette showed me pictures."
"They are waitresses. Kidnapped and broken in at the whorehouse. Their job is to service the Global Leaders. Just because they offered does not mean I said yes. Bernadette showed you to make you hate me. I have not thought about or been with anyone since I met you."
It should give me comfort, but all I see is his face in those pictures. "You...you were smiling."
He shakes his head and forces me to focus on him. "Listen to me. I had to play my role. Gustave and I had to make alliances and recreate trust. But I promise you. I did nothing with those women. You can ask Gustave. He went everywhere with me. Bernadette will tell you the truth now that tonight is over as well. The only woman I want to touch and be with is you. That has not changed. It never will."
He's telling the truth.
I knew this all along.
But he looked happy in the pictures.
He holds my cheeks. "Tell me you believe me."
I nod. "They...they were touching you. You looked..."
"I didn't want them touching me. I wanted to crawl in a hole. I'm not cut out for this. Gustave is better suited. My father was right about us."
His eyes are light gray, almost blue. In the room, they were mostly dark. They now are how they always were whenever he would look at me before all this happened.
I reach up and touch his lips.
He puts his hand over mine. "You're still shaking. Are you scared of me?" Fear covers his face.
"No. Not right now."
He closes his eyes for a brief moment. "But you were?"
New tears fall. "Yes."
"I hate myself for what I did to you."
It hangs in the air. I can't deny he hurt me. I wish I could, but I can't.
I spin to my side, but the chain from the collar gets caught between us and yanks my neck. I wince.
"Jesus. I'm so sorry. Let me take it off." He puts his hands behind my neck, but I grab them.
"You really do own me now, don't you? It isn't something to undo, is it?"
More guilt hardens his face.
"I will always be your property, won't I?"
"Emilia—"
"Why aren't you calling me your ma belle? I've never heard you use my real name so many times before. Did that get taken from us, too?"
He glances out the window. "I don't know if I've lost the right."