Pretty Perfect Toy - Angel Payne Page 0,14

shadows—appropriate symbolism of what lies ahead?—before he stops at the landing bracketed by two arched doors.

Two significant doors.

I already know where they lead—because I have already been through both of them. Temptation Manor’s turrets are among its most fascinating architectural features, identical when beheld from the outside. Inside, they cannot hold more divergent contents. In the upstairs room of Turret One, Cassian and I commemorated my first night in New York with hours of lust and passion I shall never forget. Surrounded by the lights and energy of the city, I gave him the key piece of my innocence—and the beginning of my heart.

And Turret Two?

Well…I can say I have entered it. And climbed six of its steps—before being stopped and nearly hauled out by the roots of my hair by the woman who, for all intents and purposes, has appointed herself Cassian’s ninja patrol. Since that day, Prim Smith—Temptation’s seemingly self-appointed mistress of household—has made some small efforts to warm to me, despite the vigilance for Cassian that once had me fearing her as one of his preferred ex-lovers. It is not a stretch, considering how I had barely met the man before Vy showed me internet hits that brought up as many links to his “romantic adventures” as his international business deals.

Now, that still makes Prim a glaring—and even more confusing—exception.

And fully justifies why, as Cassian crosses the landing toward that door, I wrench my hand away from his. Back away, Pavlovian instinct kicking in, as he looks back and frowns.

“Armeau.” He reclaims my hand. “It’s all right.”

“Is that so?” I twist again but he is onto me, clutching hard. “And you have come to such a conclusion…how?”

A long breath leaves him. The thief caught with the bag. He does not fight the not-so-veiled allegation. One look into my eyes and he must see it all there. How the memories assault me, as bitter as the incident that spawned them, of the night after Prim ordered me out of the turret…

“This isn’t something I want to talk about anymore, Mishella.”

“Is that why the only sound louder than your fist against that desk is the grind of your teeth? Why you look as if you yearn to collapse where you stand, but run as fast as you can at the same time?”

“This conversation isn’t going to happen. Period.”

“I think this conversation is long overdue.”

“Then you think really wrong.”

The confrontation did not end any better—but like the stars that rebelled from the cosmos to first bring us together, we pushed back the mess and found each other once more. Reconnected.

Dear Creator, if I only know we always will…

And then the comprehension strikes.

Is this the meaning of having faith?

No wonder all those saints at the Cloisters looked so terrified.

No wonder I commiserate so thoroughly with them now.

But if the fear were gripping me tenfold, I would still endure every moment. For Cassian. To know everything about him—no matter how ugly or hard or terrible it is—I will walk through Hades itself.

So maybe this is faith.

And maybe that is simply a huge part of falling in love.

“Mishella.” He reaches over, grabbing my other hand. Brings my knuckles up to his lips. “I love you. And I don’t want to silo the explosives anymore. Not with you.” Before my perplexed frown has a chance to fully form, he rushes on, “If this blows up on me, then I want your finger on the launch button.”

Oh, Creator.

Oh…this man.

I lift our joined hands. Extend just my fingertips from their clasp, spreading them over both sides of his jaw. The warmth of his skin mixed with the stab of his stubble inspires a similar contrast of sensations. Excitement, energy, awakening, even arousal…but also deeper versions of nervousness…fear.

This is faith.

And I do believe it.

Believe in him.

In us.

The surety reaches like roots of a tree, twining through the ground of our connection, reaching for him. I feel his stretching for me too…coiling deeper into me. We are strong, ready for the storm of whatever may come.

“I only want to love you too, Cassian. As best I can, in whatever way you need. That is all.”

For a long while, his stillness is my only reply. Nothing moves through him, not even a breath. I shiver harder. Terrified but turned-on. Unsure but utterly heated.

He steps back. Exhales roughly. “Christ, armeau. That’s all I still pray for…after this.”

*

Cassian

As we climb the spiral of stairs, I start to tremble.

Me.

Fuck.

This isn’t the surface shit, like jitters funneled into productivity. This is the shakes