to put the strappy stilettos back on. Maximus turns me around and lowers me to one of the concrete steps.
“Oh, I think you definitely will,” he answers to my musing. “Unless you want to play student and professor when we get back to my place,” he adds with a devilish smirk.
I giggle. “Well, I do love when you read the cantos with your pretend glasses on. Definitely does things for me.”
He chuckles as he works to fasten my straps. A little of the lightness of our night seeps away, though, as my thoughts take a dark turn. They’re doing this more and more lately, especially if the subject approaches anything that has to do with hell.
Arden. Rerek. Now Dante, unfortunately.
Maximus rises and kisses me softly. “Where did you go, beautiful?”
“It’s nothing.” I’m almost harsh about it, which isn’t his fault. But even Maximus’s gentle kiss is barely enough to pull me back. “Just…a visit to the underworld, even between those pages, isn’t exactly something I’ve wanted to think about lately,” I explain.
“Hey.” He strokes a hand over my hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag that into…wherever it went.”
I attempt a smile. “Was I that obvious?”
“Maybe not to others,” he replies. “But let’s just say you’ll have to try harder to hide from me. Though I really hope you don’t.”
I can only manage a nod, dually overwhelmed by his earnest sincerity and the fears I’m still trying to outrun. Stories that were just stories until I was faced with the actual threat of hell.
“I know you think it’s just a beautiful piece of poetry, Maximus. But whether Dante imagined it all or knew it to be true, I know that hell isn’t a myth.” I can’t control a small shiver. “Growing up, I heard too many stories to doubt it.” Another ice bath through my veins escalates the shiver to a shudder. “And it’s not a pretty place to go. Dante got that part right. I’m sure of it.”
His brows crowd in on each other. “How many of those kinds of stories have you been told?”
“Too many. Enough to have established a healthy fear of the place.” I avert my gaze. “Or maybe not so healthy. Though it definitely made us eat our peas and go to bed on time.”
I’m not sure how to take the new energy of Maximus’s stare. It doesn’t match anything in his psyche, which is still drenched in his adoration for me—though his intense blues say something different. I almost wonder if he’s just read my dismal thoughts in return, but his look doesn’t match any normal reaction to it. I don’t see pity or sadness or consolation. I simply feel…seen. And despite the mental subject matter, it feels wonderful.
The moment’s gone as fast as it came. At once, he’s back to the sincere charm that had me silently fawning over him back at President McCarthy’s house, especially as he tends to my feet, now well secured in my torture heels.
“Well, I’m terrified your brother isn’t leaving us any of the good party food.”
“Or the good scotch,” I add with a little laugh.
“Nothing but the best for you, my love.”
And here I am, thinking he couldn’t make me feel more treasured tonight. The words, and the way he issues them like a promise, are so much more fun to linger on as we climb the stairs back into the house, hand in hand. My leg muscles are sludge after being wrapped around him for the better part of an hour, but every one of my steps is a study in gliding confidence. It’s impossible to feel any other way. I’m on the arm of the man I love, and I can’t wait for the day I can be a part of all his plans. His days, his nights, his now, his forever.
Soon, I pray to any divine power within earshot of my soul. Please…please…soon.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Maximus
“So.”
Jaden Valari might be lit on at least a dozen substances right now, some legal and some not, but the stare he fires at me across Rerek’s long kitchen is one hundred percent sober.
“So?” I take a hesitant swallow from my glass of scotch, enjoying the expensive booze’s spicy caramel taste but little else.
Jaden leans forward like an indolent lion, bracing his arms along the quartz-topped island. “I’d ask what your intentions are toward Kara, but I’ve already gotten that part with crystal clarity.”
“My intentions?” I wince, not catching his meaning. Even in the most traditional sense, the challenge seems