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Perhaps two weeks ago, she opened up the base levels of the main house where we live for mingling, and my men, their wives, and their children come and go. Meetings happen over card games and dominoes while sports TV plays in the background. Just a few days ago, she made over a hundred lemon tarts and passed them out to anyone who came through.
Within the bowels of a mafia, she is crafting the expectation of smiles and baked goods.
It’s crazy.
Seated on what has become our bed, I pull on a fresh dress shirt, since we’re meeting with a contact who claims to have information about the Maxim Project soon. In the bathroom, the familiar sounds of Briar humming a tune as she brushes her teeth rise and fall beneath Bugsy’s twitters.
I button my shirt. “Princess?”
Briar pokes her head out of the bathroom, mouth full of foam. “Hm?”
“How do you do what you do?” I ask.
“Simple.” She spits and rinses her mouth out. “I give people what they crave. I teach people to associate good things with me. I become a source of what people need by embodying what they desire. Peace. Safety. Approval.” Cocking a hip against the bathroom arch, she crosses her arms. “It’s all a ruse. I’m so bright that when I lose my shine, it’s unsettling. People would rather throw themselves at my feet than risk disappointing me. I establish loyalty like a good parent—with love and affection—then I cultivate a fear of failing me and losing all of it. Physical pain is too fleeting to achieve absolute control, so I break the mind and spirit, because when the mind and spirit are broken, the body follows.”
“How…chilling.”
She chuckles. “I told you the first night we met that I preferred a psychological approach over a physical one.”
“I guess I forgot since I’m not exactly afraid to sneeze without permission.”
Tutting, she makes her way to me and adjusts the collar of my black shirt. “I like you more than I thought I would, but it’s still too late for you. You trust me so much that I can tell you my secrets without worrying. Instead of doubting everything because of the truth, you’ll assume things are different with us. You’ll assume you’re special. Too special to be fooled.”
I grasp her wrist, stopping her from fastening the last button at my throat. “Am I not?”
“You are not.”
“So you’ve spent other weeks letting other men touch you like I have?”
Her fingers close around mine, threading. She watches the shape they form together for several long moments. Then her eyes close. “You’re too pretty. I am not above falling prey to psychological attacks, intentional or otherwise. People gravitate toward what they consider attractive. In the end, everyone’s simpleminded.”
I rise and pull her closer. “That doesn’t answer my question, does it?”
Her eyes meet mine. “No. It doesn’t.”
“Are you going to?”
Her lips part. She wets them and curls against my chest. “No one has touched me like you have, Rowan. Before you, I experienced a few brief kisses from men who were boys and who inevitably couldn’t match my temperament.”
Something, inexplicably, eases in my gut. “So,” I begin, “despite that, I’m still no different than anyone else you’ve used as a means to an end? I’m just pretty enough to want at a base level, too?”
A weak laugh hits my chest. “You are so pretty. Don’t underestimate exactly how pretty you are. It’s not even something that’s entirely physical. There’s a whole way about you that I can’t stop myself from exploiting, just a little. I very deeply appreciate who you are as a person.”
I don’t think anyone has ever said anything half as nice to me.
She sighs. “Well, now you know how I operate. More flies with honey than with vinegar, and all that. Very painless concepts that just take a little practice. You don’t need to study me anymore. Shame that we still need to pretend to be involved; otherwise, I bet you’d be throwing me out before tomorrow.”
I arch a brow as I comb my fingers through her hair. “I’m not surprised you knew my initial motivations, but what gave me away?”
“It was your tendency to glare at me before ranting in your Notes app.”
“Ah.”
“You are about as discreet as a car crash.”
I clear my throat. “Well then.”
“You can’t trust me as a person, Rowan. But as an ally, I will never steer you wrong. You’ve seen the proof of that all around you these past few months.” She starts to pull away, but I keep our fingers locked together as her eyes lift to mine and she tugs loosely on our hands. “Do you have another question? We really should get going before we’re late.”
