Chapter Thirty-­One

Chapter Thirty-One

Cecelia

T obias turns his nose up as I pop open the top of the sweetened condensed milk with the triangle tip of the can opener. He scrutinizes the label as I separate the snow into two bowls and drizzle the milk on top before grabbing two spoons out of the nearby drawer.

"I told you, Trésor, I'm not eating snow." He wrinkles his nose in clear distaste. "That can't be... sanitary."

"The top few inches are clean."

"No, thank you." He moves to walk off, and I stop him and swivel us, pinning him between me and the counter.

"You will try this," I demand, but he's already shaking his head.

"No, merci, but no."

"This isn't optional, King," I say, lifting a spoonful toward his mouth.

He turns his head. "I'm not eating that ."

I shake my head. "I swear I just had a flash of the future, trying to feed a French brat, a little replica of you ."

His eyes immediately drop to my stomach, and he slowly lifts my sweater, covering the flesh with his palm before lifting a questioning gaze to mine. There's a deep sorrow etched there, and I put my threatening spoon back in the bowl, concerned by his reaction .

"What?"

"Do you want children?"

Alarm buds in my chest at his wary expression. "I haven't given it that much thought. I will admit that the idea of carrying your baby... there's something sexy, greatly appealing about it, and being a mother... I mean, I'm not opposed to eventually becoming a mother. Still, I don't feel like it will make me or break me. Why do you ask?"

He lowers his eyes to watch the glide of his fingers along my flesh in lieu of an answer.

"Do you want children?"

"I never thought I would... But the idea of you, pregnant with my baby, fuck." He licks his lips, his eyes blazing with desire. "Maybe, with you. Only with you."

His reply warms me just as the cautious side of me speaks. "Okay, so what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to my face, Tobias. Is it the danger?"

"Some of it, yes."

"Okay, then we can talk about this down the road. We're in no hurry, right?"

"Right."

Too quick. I press in.

"What aren't you telling me? Is there . . . something wrong with . . ." I lower my eyes.

He jerks his chin. "No. I can give you children, Trésor."

"Okay," I sigh. "Give me something here."

He nods toward our bowls. "Your snow cream is melting."

I groan, frustrated, but decide this argument can wait. I'm in no hurry, and it's too hard to retrieve what he clearly doesn't want me to see.

Reloading the spoon, I lift it to my mouth and moan when the sweet cream hits my tongue. His eyes flare with a little curiosity as he watches me.

"One bite, for me? "

He nods, his knuckles still faintly caressing my stomach before he lowers my sweater. When I lift the spoon to his full lips, he opens, taking a mouthful, his eyes widening a little in surprise.

I can't help my victorious smile. " Told you ."

Without hesitation, he grabs his own bowl, and we head to the couch, our discarded coats and gloves hanging on a rack next to a roaring fire.

He shovels his snow cream in, as I try not to gloat, and then speaks up around a mouthful. His words imperceptible.

"What was that, King? Did you say ‘nom nom good'?"

His eyes narrow. "I neef to go see Mawk," he mumbles, inhaling his treat and gesturing urgently for me to eat mine, as if I didn't just have to force the spoon in his mouth.

"You need to see Mark?"

He nods.

"Who's Mark?"

He swallows, dishing up another huge bite. "At the hardware store. For snow day supplies. He's my cashier."

I press my lips together as he cleans his bowl.

"You're getting around quite a bit these days, aren't you?"

He nods. "He's agreed to give me five percent off my purchase."

Laughter bursts out of me. "Won't Deanna be jealous?"

He shrugs. "Different store."

"You whore," I jab as he slurps back the rest of his bowl and gestures for me to share mine. When he opens his mouth expectantly, I make sure to cover his lips with the remnants of the sticky milk from my spoon. He scowls as I set down my bowl, still eyeing what's left in longing until I grip his shoulders and push him back onto the couch before thoroughly cleaning his lips. In seconds, he's forgotten my abandoned snow cream and opts to lick me instead. Lips swollen, wetness pooling, I pull away and gaze down at him. "I love domesticated Tobias."

"Do you?"

"Don't get me wrong, I love the salty, bossy, suit-dressed Frenchman too, but I love this version of you just as much." I press my lips to his jaw and feel him settle beneath me, his arms wrapping around me. "Maybe more."

Hours later, we stare into the fire as we lay comatose on the couch, half buzzed from wine after a long game of chess while the forecast hums in the background during the evening news. Tobias sits on one end while I lay opposite him as he massages my wool-covered feet. According to the weather report, our snow will be gone tomorrow, which makes me a little melancholy. It's the next segment of the news that snags my sleepy Frenchman's attention, halting my foot rub altogether. He turns up the volume as brief but grotesque footage is played and recapped by the anchor, snapping us both out of our stupor. Those responsible for it proudly proclaim themselves the culprits, a new terrorist organization, and it might as well be the fucking bat signal by the way Tobias is reacting—his posture going rigid and his jaw ticking. The hairs on my neck start to rise as Tobias bristles next to me, his reaction much the same. He's a closet empath to the core.

On instinct, he reaches for his cell, something I would have found odd years ago. His goal has always been corporate warfare, but since we parted months ago, his stake, his place, his say, and any future move he makes will be next level. A purposeful, calculated advantage I'm not sure he's been able to utilize yet.

The reality of that sinks in a bit further as he palms his cell and thinks better of it, glancing over at me before setting it back down. "They're already on it. Tyler and Preston," he clarifies.

I nod. "I'm sure they are. But make the call if you want to, Tobias. I'm not stopping you. And I didn't ask you to quit."

He clicks off the TV, his eyes back on the fire as he absently resumes my foot rub. As much as I've tried to tell him that I'm okay with him staying in the loop, he's refused, making sure I know our relationship is his priority. And I know with him, it's all or nothing. He's not the type of man to sit on the sidelines. I've resigned myself to the fact that it's his decision. I glance out the window gazing at our perfectly constructed but faceless snowman and grin. We got distracted when we got to that part. Our new snow day has definitely outdone any other I care to remember, and that makes me hopeful.

"I don't understand that type of man," he speaks up next to me, drawing my attention back to him. "The type of man who can kill innocents for any fucking reason to prove what evil they're capable of." He sinks back in the couch. "It's nothing new, and yet the more that comes out, the more desperate they become to outdo those who preceded them."

"It's not your job to understand them. You do enough by trying to stop them."

He shakes his head. "I have to try to understand them in order to stop them, so I can catch them."

I reach over and run my fingers through his tangled hair. "Be glad you don't understand them, Tobias."

"I've done horrible things," he admits. "But always to protect those I love, protect our cause, but I don't really lose sleep over it."

"You shouldn't."

"Maybe I should. Maybe I have a lot more of Abijah in me than..." he shakes his head. "I've heard stories about the ruthless man who created me. They're not good, Cecelia."

"How was he when you found him?"

"Gone mostly." His gaze loses focus as he speaks. "In my rare visits with him, he was only lucid a few times. Oddly, he was kind both times, but when he wasn't coherent, most of his talk was vapid nonsense. And his temper was... malicious."

"Tobias, you decide who you are, you know that. You taught me that."

His eyes drift over to me. "I saw you once in Paris. Your sophomore year of college. I'd just killed a man."

Shock. Utter and complete shock keeps me stunned silent as he speaks.

"He was a filthy motherfucker, handsy with children, cruel to his family, a horrible human being. One of Ant—" he cuts himself off, only fueling the hurt and anger surfacing. "I didn't hesitate a second pulling the trigger. Not a second," he whispers. "After I watched him die, I went to a bar I frequented. I had just drained my first gin when I got the text you were headed in my direction, and I knew you were coming straight for me. I only managed to get a block away when I saw you turn the corner, your hair blowing around your face, obstructing my view before you stepped in." His eyes lift to mine. "I knew you were in Paris. I always knew where you were, but it felt so much more intimate when you were there. I knew you were missing me because you were frequenting all the places we talked about when we were together. All the places I hoped to take you one day. I knew, in a way, you were searching for me." He gives me a sad smile as the first tear glides down my cheek. "And you nearly caught me," he whispers, his hand stopping on my foot. "It was like you were haunting me, and then you were there."

When he gauges my reaction, I close my eyes.

"Please don't get upset."

"How can I not? You saw me, and you didn't fucking—" I shake my head, my hurt taking over. "How—"

"I couldn't, Cecelia, I couldn't. I'd barely healed from being shot, and the painful stretch in my skin as I walked away from you was reminder enough of how dangerous it would be to drag you back in. If you only knew how bad that hurt. I could kill a man without hesitation, but leaving you there felt so much fucking worse. Jesus, if you only knew how much I wanted to walk back to that bar, just to get a glimpse of you through that fucking window. But I felt like a monster. And back then, I was far more monster than man." He shakes his head. "Knowing you were there, so fucking close and wondering if you sensed me there. I wanted so much to go to you, to touch you, even with fresh blood on my hands. And I felt... punished. Thoroughly punished and confused by how I could feel so fucking little about taking a life but so torn apart for needing you. It was complete chaos for me, both sides fighting for dominance and both wanting the same thing—you. And so I ran, I ran from you, chasing the monster far, far away, so he couldn't touch you with his bloody hands." His features twist in pain. "I started to hate Paris after that, hate everything about it. Being there felt like a betrayal of a future that we could never have." He closes his eyes. "It took everything I had to walk away from that bar. Everything I fucking had left, and that wasn't much at that point. I was more vengeance than human being, but you reminded me I was still flesh and blood that day... you reminded me. It was one of the worst nights of my life because I've never felt so alone."

Hot tears stream down my cheeks at his admission. Anger for the time we lost, for the relief we could have found in each other and never got due to his fucking overpowering need to protect me.

"It was always the job that cost me you. It's always been the job. I have to be a monster to catch the other monsters, and the job, in essence, is fighting a lost cause. Mostly, because men like that are never going to stop coming." He lifts earnest eyes to mine. "But there's only one you... and—" his eyes flit with emotion—"I've been alone my whole goddamn life. I don't want to be alone anymore."

I launch myself at him, wrapping so tightly around him, I refuse him any space. I breathe in his spicy skin, surrounding him, covering him, as he grips me just as tightly. "You're not alone, Tobias," I say softly. "I'm not going anywhere , not if I can help it."

He grips my head and gazes up at me, the sorrow I saw seconds before replaced by a sort of peace. He cements our lips together and separates them with his tongue in gentle exploration. Drawn in, I kiss him back, feeling every ounce of love in his kiss while feeding him my own.

Not long after, we get lost. He lifts from the couch with me wrapped around him, carrying me wordlessly to the bedroom. And with each step, I feel his decision.

They can wait. For just a little longer, they can all fucking wait.