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Alternatively, a dark romance book boyfriend.
Briar
“You’re going to have to wear a tux.”
Rowan grunts, one arm thrown over his face. We’re lying in bed, atop the comforter, while he processes the information we received from my informant—a representative from the Maxim Project will be at a black-and-white ball being thrown in the underground soon. It promises to be a real sketchy sort of place. With auctions on stolen goods and illegal substances and endangered animals.
So long as there aren’t auctions on people, it sounds like fun. Real masquerade. A true what if Cinderella were Italian and the prince were a mafia boss?
To say I’m excited is an understatement.
“I hope there’s dancing,” I chirp.
Rowan groans, lifts his arm, and plants both hands to his face. “It sounds loud. And awful.”
“Oh no. I’m sure it’s loud and amazing.”
He peeks out from under one hand at me, eyes narrowed. “May I manipulate you into becoming an introvert, or is that too far?”
“Definitely too far, and probably impossible, but I wonder…” I rest my head against his shoulder. “You might be able to craft situations that cause me to develop phobias to extroverted activities?”
He rolls toward me. “I’m listening.”
“You could pinch me every time I talk in groups of more than two. Spray me with water whenever I suggest going out or doing things. Your options for punishment are truly limitless.”
“Seems kind of like you’d enjoy it.”
I’m giggly and wiggly. And, possibly, hyped up on bad decisions. “What gave me away?”
He sighs, but he’s smiling now…tenderly. Like I’m…like I’m precious and he can’t believe I’m here with him.
It makes my chest hurt.
“Why are you like this—” His fingertips graze up my side to my neck and close around it for no real reason, thumb stroking my pulse. “—when you had a good childhood?”
Given that I’m hopelessly enamored by his hand around my throat, I’m certain I don’t understand what he’s talking about. “Define good?”
“Parents who didn’t beat you.”
“Ah. That’s a low bar.” I touch his wrist, feel his own pulse hammering. “I like people who don’t treat me like I’m breakable. I like teeth and claws, wrestling for power until everyone is laughing from the realization power is an illusion—and shouldn’t be sought after in healthy relationships. Being terrible and loved anyway is…comforting. It’s the…” I press my lips together, try to find the right words, and tuck myself a little closer to him. “It’s the no wrong answers. If you’re as bad as I am, I don’t have to worry about doing something worse.”
He squeezes, gently. “I understand completely.”
I know he does. Craning against his grip, I kiss his chin. “Everything is deep, but nothing is so serious it can’t be fixed or softened into something you can heal from.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing. It can take time and effort. It can haunt and torment. But it can be overcome. No feeling is a forever feeling. Minds are so…liquid. You can do whatever you want with them. With enough willpower, the world itself bends to do your bidding. The mind is the only tool we need to accomplish anything. So long as we take care in learning about how our minds function and relate to those around us, anything is possible. You just have to envision it.”
“I’m envisioning not wearing a tux to a black-and-white, black-market ball.”
I grin. “They should have called it the white-and-black-market ball.”
His smile turns wry. “Missed opportunities.”
“You need to wear a tux.”
Closing his eyes, he settles his forehead against mine. “I’m saving it for our wedding.”
