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“What about Victoria?” I demand.

Rhea gives me an innocent look that proves she’s an incredible actress. “You told me you didn’t want her near this place, especially not while you were here.”

“She’ll do anything to help you have your little girl get here okay,” I shrug. “So would I. It’s not about us.”

“Well, I don’t know if you two should be left alone together.” She taps a finger on her chin, the picture of dubious thought. “What if you start fighting? We just fixed up that apartment.”

“She can stay in it. I’ll stay at the house. Watch it for you,” I promise, even though I know I am being played by an absolute master at this point. Even Manny is silent, smirking as he soaps up his grease-stained hands after the final car of the day.

“Hmm. What do you think, honey?” Rhea turns to the big lug and looks at him with those faux innocent eyes.

“I think you shouldn’t let her stay here alone, Rhea. Or Laz, for that matter. You know. Not with bad people looking for them.”

“They aren’t!” I never explained exactly how I got Pazcuso off Victoria’s tail, especially since it would mean explaining that I talked to him. Baited him. Almost dared him to come after me.

Plus I have the idea that the whole “I pretended to kill Victoria and dumped her naked body in the open grave near my crypt” conversation would cause one (or both) of them to have a stroke.

“You think that, but I think that you shouldn’t take chances. Safety in numbers. Victoria’s a pretty little thing—reminds me of a ballerina sometimes, the way she moves—but I think she could handle herself in a fight, and I don’t think,” Manny clears his throat, “that she’d ever let anything happen to you.”

I can’t help the grin that cracks across my face, scaring away the scowl. “Oh, so she’s the badass?”

“Language!” Rhea hushes, but she’s grinning, too. “You’re both dangerous in the protective sense of the word. I don’t know if you should be left alone together, but your father seems to think you two can be trusted to watch each other’s backs. You can have our room at the house, and Victoria can have the guest room.”

I know there are three bedrooms, but one is the nursery.”

“I’d let you both stay here. In the apartment,” Manny winks.

“There’s only one bedroom. I don’t want to rush the kids into anything,” Rhea murmurs in an undertone. “This is all conjecture, anyway. Hannah might not need any help, the cerclage might hold just perfectly, and all we have to do is wait.”

Funny. Now all I can think about is rushing and waiting.

I feel like I’ve been waiting for someone like Victoria all of this time and didn’t know it. I feel like I’m finally waking up, and what I want is right in front of me. Beautiful. Dangerous. Pretty rose all wrapped in thorns, and I’m nothing but thorns with a speck of a soft spot inside.

We fit.

No matter what I said before, I suddenly find myself thinking that maybe she is my soulmate, just not in the traditional sense. Like... Like maybe I don’t need a soul of my own, like maybe I can make do with a secondhand one—if it’s a little piece of hers.

“I’ll run it all past her tonight. You won’t mind if I don’t stop over?”

Rhea and Manny exchange a look that reminds me that there’s something better than lust.

“Time alone with my girl? That’s about to be in short supply. I’d better bottle it up while I can,” Manny chuckles, putting his arms around Rhea’s waist, pulling her graceful figure into his arms. She looks up at him with a smile that’s loving and longing, peaceful and hungry all at once.

“We’ll entertain ourselves for one night,” she whispers.

“Sounds good.”

I gather up my things and leave, trudging across the slushy lot to the old work van Manny’s letting me use.

When I get in the car, I crank the heater and let my hand wander over to the passenger seat. I can imagine Victoria sprawled across it, me inside of her... Or I can imagine her sitting in it, holding my hand, singing to the songs I’ll one day learn she likes.

I want something better than lust and part of her soul. I want to be in love, and have someone love me back, to own my heart the way that my creators tried to. Full control.

You add love to that, and I think you get freedom to belong to someone while still being your real self.

“We sure think a lot for a walking scrap heap,” I sigh as I rumble away.

VICTORIA STEPS OUT of the RV in a jacket I don’t recognize, the kind with the fluffy hood that falls over her face. For a second, I’m worried it’s not really her (thank you, trust issues, torture, and paranoia), but I would know those legs anywhere.