Chapter 21

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They both need therapy.

Rowan

My skin smells like lemons, sugar, sunshine. Bright yellow things.

Lately, I fantasize about tracing ink petals with my fingertips, not my entire world coming apart. I still have no idea how Briar does it, but—one step at a time—my family has begun to feel like the moment after a deep breath is exhaled. There's laughter in the halls. Greetings around the property. A homey warmth that suggests the den of criminals is made up of real people.

Perhaps two weeks ago, she opened up the base levels of the main house where we live for mingling, and my men, their wives, and their children come and go. Meetings happen over card games and dominoes while sports TV plays in the background. Just a few days ago, she made over a hundred lemon tarts and passed them out to anyone who came through.

Within the bowels of a mafia, she is crafting the expectation of smiles and baked goods.

It's crazy.

Seated on what has become our bed, I pull on a fresh dress shirt, since we're meeting with a contact who claims to have information about the Maxim Project soon. In the bathroom, the familiar sounds of Briar humming a tune as she brushes her teeth rise and fall beneath Bugsy's twitters.

I button my shirt. "Princess?"

Briar pokes her head out of the bathroom, mouth full of foam. "Hm?"

"How do you do what you do?" I ask.

"Simple." She spits and rinses her mouth out. "I give people what they crave. I teach people to associate good things with me. I become a source of what people need by embodying what they desire. Peace. Safety. Approval." Cocking a hip against the bathroom arch, she crosses her arms. "It's all a ruse. I'm so bright that when I lose my shine, it's unsettling. People would rather throw themselves at my feet than risk disappointing me. I establish loyalty like a good parent—with love and affection—then I cultivate a fear of failing me and losing all of it. Physical pain is too fleeting to achieve absolute control, so I break the mind and spirit, because when the mind and spirit are broken, the body follows."

"How…chilling."

She chuckles. "I told you the first night we met that I preferred a psychological approach over a physical one."

"I guess I forgot since I'm not exactly afraid to sneeze without permission."

Tutting, she makes her way to me and adjusts the collar of my black shirt. "I like you more than I thought I would, but it's still too late for you. You trust me so much that I can tell you my secrets without worrying. Instead of doubting everything because of the truth, you'll assume things are different with us. You'll assume you're special. Too special to be fooled."

I grasp her wrist, stopping her from fastening the last button at my throat. "Am I not?"

"You are not."

"So you've spent other weeks letting other men touch you like I have?"

Her fingers close around mine, threading. She watches the shape they form together for several long moments. Then her eyes close. "You're too pretty. I am not above falling prey to psychological attacks, intentional or otherwise. People gravitate toward what they consider attractive. In the end, everyone's simpleminded."

I rise and pull her closer. "That doesn't answer my question, does it?"

Her eyes meet mine. "No. It doesn't."

"Are you going to?"

Her lips part. She wets them and curls against my chest. "No one has touched me like you have, Rowan. Before you, I experienced a few brief kisses from men who were boys and who inevitably couldn't match my temperament."

Something, inexplicably, eases in my gut. "So," I begin, "despite that, I'm still no different than anyone else you've used as a means to an end? I'm just pretty enough to want at a base level, too?"

A weak laugh hits my chest. "You are so pretty. Don't underestimate exactly how pretty you are. It's not even something that's entirely physical. There's a whole way about you that I can't stop myself from exploiting, just a little. I very deeply appreciate who you are as a person."

I don't think anyone has ever said anything half as nice to me.

She sighs. "Well, now you know how I operate. More flies with honey than with vinegar, and all that. Very painless concepts that just take a little practice. You don't need to study me anymore. Shame that we still need to pretend to be involved; otherwise, I bet you'd be throwing me out before tomorrow."

I arch a brow as I comb my fingers through her hair. "I'm not surprised you knew my initial motivations, but what gave me away?"

"It was your tendency to glare at me before ranting in your Notes app."

"Ah."

"You are about as discreet as a car crash."

I clear my throat. "Well then."

"You can't trust me as a person, Rowan. But as an ally, I will never steer you wrong. You've seen the proof of that all around you these past few months." She starts to pull away, but I keep our fingers locked together as her eyes lift to mine and she tugs loosely on our hands. "Do you have another question? We really should get going before we're late."

"Just one."

Her head cocks. "Oh?"

"Will you teach me how to do it, too?"

Her brows rise. "You want me to teach you how to be as toxic as I am?"

"I want to weave myself as deeply into your blood as you've woven yourself into mine. I'd like your every inhale and exhale to come with thoughts of me. I want to convince you that I am different and special, or—if nothing else—pretty enough to keep around."

Laughter bubbles out of her as she clamps her free hand to her mouth. "That's a very specific end goal, and it kind of turns me on, which means it's definitely time to go." She twists toward the door, and I follow her out into the hall while calculations flicker through her eyes. By the time we make it to the top of the staircase, she says, "All right. Sure. It could be fun. It'll take some of the guilt off if you're willing to come down to my level."

"Down?"

"It's not pretty to actively weaponize abuse, pet, so I wouldn't exactly claim knowing how to elevates anyone."

Yet, she's never made anything she's done feel quite like abuse. "What's the first step?"

"Make yourself my entire reason for living. Make me believe I'm unreliable. You need to convince me I'm worthless without you. You must become more precious to me than life itself, and then you must make me out to be inferior to everyone else, so I'm constantly using every last bit of my energy vying for your attention. It's a delicate game because you absolutely cannot let anyone else know you're playing it. They could rally against you and open my eyes to the truth."

I swear, because doesn't that just hit a little too close to home?

She shrugs. "Welcome to my awful world."

"This seems like the exact opposite of what you've done with me. You make me feel…stable. Worthy. Good enough, no matter what."

Beaming, she casts a look back at me. "Because you are, Rowan. And because I use my powers for good. But you aren't interested in attaining these powers so you can use them for good. You want to keep me trapped and submissive. Reliant on you to such an extent I can't survive on my own and you never have to fear I'll leave you behind. To achieve your wicked goals, you've gotta do things the bad way, not the morally gray way." Twirling at the bottom of the steps, she glitters. "To be fair, I work my magic on more than just one person, though, so I'm sure in the end everything will math out to make us the same exact kind of terrible."

Catching up to her, I cup her chin and swipe my thumb along her bottom lip. "You sound much too eager."

"It's ever so lonely at the top."

I chuckle, kiss her forehead. "Teach me everything, princess. I want to live in your awful world for the rest of my life."

Ecstatic, she bites her lip. "You mean that?"

"Yes."

Her head shakes as she smiles. "It sounds too much like a marriage proposal. I think you're addicted to them."

I don't pull back. "We're already engaged, Briar. You're obsessed with me, so you begged me to marry you. I figured you were cute enough, at least while you were begging, so I agreed."

Shivering, she swears. "Holy—" She swears again. "Are you a natural or something? I'm just about convinced. That was a stellar example of undermining my worth and rewriting our history in your favor."

I find the strength to separate us. "Let's just say I've had some experience studying cruel professionals."

Her smile falters.

"My parents," I clarify.

She nods. "No. I know. I…I'm sorry."

Drawing her hand to my lips, I kiss before taking the lead and marching us toward the exit. "I'm over it. For the first time in my life, I can see past tomorrow. It's sunny. And it smells like cake."