Page 82 of Bloody Royals

I knew I needed to talk to him about that text.

That damn text.

I’d sent it to him in a moment of shame, feeling like I needed to set proper boundaries now so that he’d stop tempting me with his pretty words and sinful mouth. I couldn’t keep leading them on. My future had already been planned out for me. I was going to marry August and live in this cage for the rest of my days under a massive microscope. Sleeping around with other men wasn’t a possibility.

Loving them would be impossible.

But distancing myself wasn’t what I wanted. Not even a little bit.

“You have much more important things to attend to today,” Atticus said, a menacing glint to his tone that made me nervous. I knew he was mad and demanding—a lethal combination for someone who wanted to claim my heart.

I forced my words to sound confident despite my reservations. “And what would that be?”

“Fittings for your engagement party dress.” He crawled across the mattress over to me, his eyes dark with intent. “Since you’re hell-bent on marrying that idiot and focusing all your attention on him instead of me, I figured I’d help you with finding the perfect gown. We’re friends, after all. That’s the line in the sand, isn’t it?”

My eyes widened as I processed his words. I thought he’d want to check on me after the murder. But this was unexpected.

It was rare that I got nervous anymore. I’d learned to switch off my fear and lean into the numb haze of survival when necessary. But Atticus had my heart racing. “Monster,” I whispered. “Can we talk about this?”

“What’s there to talk about, baby?” he asked while hovering over me. “You said all you needed to say in that fucking text, did you not?”

I didn’t really have the emotional capacity to worry about that damn text message, but surprisingly, it was nice to think about instead of the threat on our lives. This felt like a game—a game I wanted to win.

“What about the killing?” I asked.

He stroked my cheek. “Do you need to talk about it?”

I shook my head. “Do you?”

He smiled. “I love every part of you, Christine. You were so fearless and brave. Watching you take charge and slit his throat was a turn-on. It makes me happy to know you can defend yourself.”

Whoa. I wasn’t expecting that. “Really?”

He brushed his nose against mine. “I’m not scared of bloodshed, Little Monster.”

I swallowed. He was so close, and yet so far. “So, the dress?” I asked, needing to change the subject. It was strange. Part of me felt okay with the killing, part of me wished I didn’t have to. I wasn’t necessarily comfortable with the idea of ending a life, but I wasn’t against it either. I had many parts to my soul, and each man brought out a different aspect of it. I liked that I could be a monster with Atticus, though.

He ripped the comforter off of me and looked down at my silky pajamas. I felt my heart race from his perusal. “Strip. Since we’re friends, you won’t mind trying all of it on for me, would you?”

And with those words, he rolled off of me and went back out in the hall.

I let out a shaky breath and made my way over to the bathroom. After running a brush through my hair, I cleaned my face and scrubbed my teeth. The bathroom door opened and Atticus shoved me a beautiful matte black box with a red bow on top. “Put this on first.”

He shut the door before I could ask him what he was doing. After debating for a moment if I wanted him to push me around, I gave in and pulled off the ribbon, then opened the lid, gasping at what was inside.

It was a deep green, strapless bra that was so detailed it felt too precious to touch. Sitting on emerald tissue paper was a matching thong. I ran the tips of my fingers over the material, loving how soft it felt. “Hurry up, Christine.”

I stripped out of my pajamas and put it on, noting how the cups pushed my breasts up and the underwear left little to the imagination. I reached for my robe but stopped. This was a game after all. If Atticus wanted to see me wearing this, then I’d give him a show.

I opened the door and stepped into my chilly room. He had his back to me and was running his hands over a rack of clothes he’d wheeled in, softly caressing the dresses hanging like he was imagining they were me. I held my breath while waiting for him to turn around.

“Are you dressed?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He casually looked over his shoulder at me, and if it wasn’t for the way his hand paused and clenched into a fist, I would have never known he was affected by me. “Let’s try this one on first,” he said while grabbing a hanger with a deep red gown on it.

I stepped up to him, poising myself just inches from his back. I could smell his expensive cologne and feel the heat radiating off of him. “Okay,” I said while reaching around him to grab it from his hand. He let out a harsh breath and spun around to face me. His eyes swept up and down my body in such a hungry way that I could barely focus.

---