happen to us when we go back? Is there even going to be an us? Am I . . . am I reading too much into this?”
He sits up, spearing me with his gaze. “You think you’re reading too much into this?”
I shrug, looking back at the pool and feeling on the spot and a bit stupid. “Maybe. I mean . . . you and me. Here. It’s perfect. But is it just supposed to be for here?”
“Is that what you want?” His voice gets low and sharp.
I could tell him yes. Put my shields back up and end it. But I can’t do that. So I choose to be vulnerable. “No. It’s not what I want.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you.” I sneak a glance at him.
His features soften slightly. “You have me, okay? You have me. This doesn’t end here. It continues. I told you that you were mine, and I’m yours too. I’m not backing down. I’m not letting go. I may be a wicked man in many ways, but I’m not stupid. I know when I’ve got something good for me in my hands, and, little sprite, you are perfect for me. In every single way.”
“You deserve someone better than me,” I tell him.
“I don’t think that I do,” he says.
“I’m . . . I’m not perfect. I’ve got . . .”
“Issues. Yes, I know. You have daddy issues, I have them too. You’ve been through trauma, I have too, though not to your extent, not even a little. But I get where you’re coming from, because I’ve come out of a similar place. I deserve you and you deserve me because we’re more alike than you think.”
“You mean both of us are slightly off?”
“And I wouldn’t want it any other way. How boring would it be if we were normal?”
He says that, but he really has no idea.
If I stay with Pascal, how can I possibly go through with what I have planned? Even if he doesn’t find out, even if it goes so perfectly that I’m not caught, how can I live with myself, knowing what I’ve done?
“Listen,” he says, swinging his legs over the side of the chair, the towel dropping to his waist. He reaches out and takes my hand in his. “I know you’re worried, but I’ve got you. What we have here, we will have there, I promise. Maybe we’ll have to hide it for a while, but what I feel for you won’t go away.”
What he feels for me?
What does he feel for me?
“I don’t think your family will ever understand,” I tell him carefully, trying to convey so much by saying so little.
“They don’t really matter.”
“Your father will care.”
His jaw sets firmly as his eyes grow sharp. “Believe me when I say, I’ve got you. My father has no say.”
“But your father has ways of correcting things when they don’t go his way.”
His brow furrows. “Are you afraid he’s going to hurt you or me?”
“Both,” I whisper.
“You’re like his favorite . . .” He trails off.
“Pet?” I fill in. “I know. Believe me, I know. And what happens to me when you try to take me away?”
“He’s not going to touch you. He wouldn’t do that.”
Oh, he wouldn’t, would he? Pascal, you are so blind sometimes.
I have to wonder how long it took for him to admit it to himself, what his father did to Ludovic, especially after his own brother came to the same conclusion.
“I’m afraid of him,” I admit.
“I know you are. But you shouldn’t be. Do you have any reason?”
The words are on the tip of my tongue, just begging to come out.
“He’s a murderer,” I eke out.
Pascal exhales through his nose in a huff and looks down at my hand in his, shaking his head. “I know he is. And I know . . . I know.” He lets go of my hand and drags his palms over his face, anguish on his brow. “Fuck, I know I have to do something about it. That I just can’t live with him anymore knowing this. That it isn’t right. It isn’t fair. That if I let him get away with it, then I’m just as bad as he is and, Gabrielle, baby, I don’t want to be like him anymore. I . . . I’ve seen what redemption looks like. I’ve felt it when I’m inside you, looking into your eyes, into your heart. That’s what I want now. And I’ll get it through you.”