Chapter 83

The door clicks shut and Christian slowly crosses the room to the empty side of the bed. I watch every move of his silhouette as he slowly lowers himself to the vacant spot, as he uncurls his legs out in front of him, as he sighs and leans back against the pillows waiting there as if they were placed just for him.

He sighs, and folds his hands in his lap, and stares down at them. Quietly, I take in the shape of his profile in repose, the defined lines of his straight nose, his firm chin, the hair falling over his forehead and into his eyes, as he never usually lets it.

And god, god again I’m swept away by him. He’s just so beautiful. How can one man have such control over me, over the way that I feel?

I reach over the bit of comforter between us – and god, does it feel like a mile, even if it’s only an inch or too. Softly, I place my hand on his arm, wanting to comfort, but also needing to know why he’s here.

Christian feels it, intuits it, my silent inquiry. And he turns his head to me, looking at me in the darkness of the room. I wonder what he can see of me. What he does see.

“Iris,” he murmurs, leaning a little closer. “Violetta –“

But I groan, and take my hand away, and cover my face with it.

Christian, to his credit, just laughs a little. Not at me – at himself, I think, fully aware of the irony of what he just said. I mean, honestly, this man kissed the hell out of me earlier tonight, and then kicked Frankie out, and shut the door, and came and laid down on my bed.

And he wants to talk about his girlfriend?

“I know,” he murmurs, and I can feel him inch closer, apologetic. “I’m sorry, Iris. I –“

“Sorry for what?” I ask, dropping my hand a little and looking up at him.

Christian sinks down a little, opening his arms to me, and I move instinctually. I inch closer, and let him wrap me up in his arms, and I rest my head on his chest as my own arm crosses his body and tucks itself around his waist, my fingers pressed idly to his back.

It’s only after I’ve moved that I realize that it’s probably a mistake. That Christian is…kind of being a dick right now, putting up boundaries and then crossing them when he wants to, even though I’m never allowed to do the same.

But at this moment, when I’m so tired, and a little drunk, and so upset by everything…I just can’t bring myself to care. I’ll worry about it tomorrow.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, slumping down further so that the air of his words brushes lightly against my hair, “that…you had to go through all of that tonight. It’s what I wanted to protect you from.”

“I know,” I say softly. “But…when you tried to protect me, I went a little crazy too.”

He nods, understanding, forgiving me for it. “Still,” he says. “It’s going to get even more complicated. And we have to be very careful, playing this little game we’ve devised.”

“The game?” I ask, my voice curious.

“Sure,” he says, and I feel him nod. “This little farce, where the four of us pretend that absolutely nothing has changed.”

I sit still for a moment, processing his words. “Pretend,” I say, a little sarcastic, taking a deep breath in and then sighing it out. Because I wonder how much of it is pretend.

Obviously, some parts are easier than others to parse. Pretending I don’t know Edward is dead, pretending I don’t know how he died. That part I know I have to play.

But pretending, as Christian has clearly decided, that nothing has changed between us? That he didn’t kiss me, that there isn’t this insane thing between us?

Honestly, that’s going to be much harder. How can I pretend not to know, now that he’s kissed me like that? Now that I know precisely how he feels, even if he’s never said the words? That I’m his, and he’ll kill anyone who threatens me, no matter who it is.

How can I pretend not to know that? How can I deny the intensity of that, in every single moment of my life?

“Nothing’s changed, Iris,” Christian whispers, and I tilt my head up towards him to find him looking down at me, his face scant inches from mine. And he smiles, just a little, and I smile back.

“So, you still have a girlfriend,” I whisper back, nodding.

“Mmhmm,” he says, nodding too, but holding my gaze. “But…nothing’s changed.”

And I wonder, passively, what he means by that. If, perhaps, he’s not talking about Violetta and our current reality at all. If what he’s saying goes far, far further back.

Back to a boy, and a girl, sitting on a rooftop in the early summer. And him calling her Daisy. And her staring at him in the starlight like she’s never seen anything so beautiful in all her life.

I blink, once, languidly up at Christian. And he smiles, just a tiny thing, and I let my eyes fall shut. His arms tighten to hold me closer, to keep me cozy. And I nestle my face against his chest and allow myself, finally, to fall asleep.

When I wake up hours later, I’m not surprised at all to find that I haven’t moved an inch. Why would I, when I can’t imagine any place I’d rather be, anywhere in the world?

But I am surprised when I yawn, and look up, and see Christian looking down at me, his eyes tired and a little bleary. Instantly I sit up straighter, reaching out a hand to cup his cheek. “Chris,” I whisper. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Not much,” he murmurs, leaning into my hand a little, a very animal gesture that goes straight to my heart. “I was…thinking. Caught a few snippets of sleep, here and there but…yeah. I didn’t sleep much.”

“Christian,” I scold, sighing a little and letting my body slump closer to his. “You need to sleep – you’re going to have an insane day –“

“That’s what coffee’s for,” he murmurs, smiling at me. “Besides, it’s not like it wasn’t restful. It’s very peaceful in here. With you.”

“I didn’t snore?” I ask, wrinkling my nose.

“Oh no, you did,” he says, his eyebrows going up with his honestly.

I gasp, and smack him a little on the chest, which makes him laugh.

“It was a very gentle snore!” he insists, grinning. “Rhythmic! Honestly, Iris, you could make ASMR videos for a very specific type of consumer –“

“Oh, shut up,” I mutter, even though I’m laughing too, just a little. And I sigh, and curl up next to him again where I was all night, my head on his chest. I groan a little at the tense feeling at the back of my head – the result of too much stress and whiskey, too little water and sleep.

“You okay?” Christian murmurs, stroking my hair.

“Oh, nothing a few dozen aspirin won’t fix,” I murmur, shaking my head slightly. Christian laughs again and then, to my dismay, starts to get up, gently slipping out from beneath me and making sure I’m cozily settled before standing straight.

“Where are you going?” I ask, watching him stretch his tired body, his arms going over his head.

“To start my day,” he answers, vague as usual. But then he sighs, and drops his head, shaking it as he decides to be more honest with me. He raises his eyes to mine as he gives his true reply. “I have to get dressed. I’m having…breakfast with Violetta. So she can lay into me.”

“Oh,” I say, my eyebrows going up.

So. Nothing really has changed.

Slowly he nods. “Plan stays the same,” he says quietly. “You’ll be all right at Lupa? I’ll see you there, later this afternoon. I’m sure, when shit comes out, my dad will want to interrogate you. But I won’t let him do it alone.”

I bite my lip, anxious. He smiles at me.

“Trust Frankie,” he says, turning towards the door. “He’s surprisingly good in high-pressure situations like this. He’ll take care of you.”

“Okay,” I answer, watching Christian pull the door open.

He gives me a long, long look, and then passes out of it, off for his breakfast date.

I scowl, and fall back amongst the pillows.

Nico appears at the door about fifteen seconds later, his prompt arrival clearly suggesting that he knew exactly who was in this room, and that he was waiting for the boss to come out before he came to torture me.

“Up, princess,” Nico says, sarcastic and leaning against the doorframe, his hands sunk deep in the pockets of his sweatpants. “You’ve got to get ready for work, which today means getting rid of those black circles under your eyes and a great deal of coaching on your story to make sure you deliver it right.”

I groan and turn over in the bed, pulling the blankets up over my head.

“Fifteen minutes, Bambina!” he says, louder than is necessary.

I groan again in response, making my feelings on this matter perfectly clear, but Nico just laughs and leaves me alone in my room.