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Her lips pursed, and her gaze snapped to him. “Hey, now. I didn’t say that.”
Smiling, he lay beside her, let his nails graze her arm, and clasped her hand before drawing it to his heart. “Talk to me.”
Silence broken by the pound of rain beneath him lingered for several long moments.
Then, her fingers gripped his tighter as she turned to face him. “Willow and Alana are lovely people.”
“They are.”
“But do they even know what responsibility is?”
“Alana is a princess. She helps manage meetings and paperwork and kingdom relations each day. She has also taught herself near a dozen languages that allow her to hold her own when she goes with Cael to other domains based in other countries. All while she struggles with depression. Willow has been living by herself on an inheritance left to her by her grandmother for a decade now. Within the past few years, she has taken it upon herself to run Ollie’s career as his PR and advertising manager…and I think she just became Brittny’s agent, securing her a publishing deal with Ink&Paper within the past few months.”
Kassandra pulled her hand from his, pushed herself up, and stared. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Maturity and responsibility are difficult to judge in situations where neither is called for.” Pollux lifted his hand to push back the waterfall of his wife’s curls. She really was…so breathtakingly beautiful. “The fae understand that appearances can be faked, so we put very little energy into caring about them at the common level here.”
“At the common level?”
“Those in positions of nobility often must use more tools in order to effectively manage delicate balances. Also, there are places in Faerie where the cultures are built around less kind concepts. In those places, it is wise to be wary and play our weaknesses as strengths.”
Her lips fell into a delicate frown. “I know less every minute.” She dropped her face against his shoulder, wrapped her arms around his chest, and held tight. “It makes me want to scream.”
His heart jumped.
“Tell me what I’m supposed to do, Pollux. It feels like I’ve spent too long embedding a list of other people’s rules in my skin. I’m a collection of scar tissue. It hurts just to breathe. I don’t know how to be correct anymore, but…” Her face lifted, and her eyes begged. “…I do know how to follow instructions if they’re clear enough. Please just give me actionable steps. Where do I go from here? If I can, I’ll do anything you tell me if you tell me it will help.”
She was going to give him a heart attack. He fought to get a breath in his lungs as heat boiled beneath his skin. Thoughts fled his mind.
Steps.
Actionable steps.
Those were his favorite kind.
All the better if they were numbered.
But he…
Right now, he just wanted to kiss her.
He wanted to bury her in the clouds and toy with the hem of her nightgown until the slick sensation of the silk found its way into every minute that followed when he exited this plane. He wanted to abuse the trust her words were supplying him.
He wanted to suggest he knew exactly how to make her feel better than she had ever felt before…
Which, of course, was ludicrous, as he had never once toyed with the things his brain was entertaining now.
“You can’t?” she asked.
“I am removing my mind from unhelpful locations.”
Red glazed her cheekbones. “I obviously don’t mean…” She turned away from him and sat up, entirely oblivious to the way her hair fell across her back. “Ugh. I’m having a crisis, and you’re thinking about—” Breath filled her as she crossed her arms. “You’re the worst.”
“You baffle me.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him as he also rose. “I baffle you?”
“Often, yes. This idea that you seem to believe you are not seduction itself to me and I am ‘the worst’ for the moments I can’t help but acknowledge that truth baffles me.”
