My rage upon arriving at Mara’s house and finding her already gone is only surpassed by my disgust at myself for not anticipating this.
I had been counting on her understanding of how advantageous it would be to arrive together. Cameras flashing as we stepped out of the limousine, each oozing the glamour, wealth, and cache I had carefully curated for that moment.
Instead, that obstinate little idiot has run off on foot.
I HATE when she walks.
As much as I’ve tried to conceal my mentorship of Mara, it’s only a matter of time until Alastor sees us together. When he does, there’s no hiding who she is. He’ll recognize her. And for the first time in my life . . . I’m not sure what to do about that.
I don’t want Alastor anywhere near Mara.
I don’t want him to know she’s even alive.
And yet, the only way to hide her from him would be to never interact with her myself, or only in the most mundane ways.
I want her with me constantly.
I want to do every fucking thing I want to do with her.
The conflict between this need and its inevitable consequences infuriates me.
I want her always under my eye. Always under my control. I want cameras in her room, on her fucking body. It’s not enough, watching her at the studio, at work, from the house behind hers . . .
“GET TO THE FUCKING GALLERY!” I bellow at the driver.
The moment we pull up, I shove my way inside, without any of the usual glad-handing.
The only person I greet is Sonia, and only to snarl at her, “WHERE IS SHE?”
“Mara?” Sonia says, eyebrow raised.
She knows damn well I mean Mara. She just wants to make me say it.
“Yes,” I hiss. “Mara.”
Sonia points wordlessly with her pen.
If I hadn’t been so enraged, I could have simply followed the concentration of noise around her. Mara is already surrounded by journalists, critics, and newfound friends.
I shove my way through all of them, seizing her by the arm and snarling into her face, “How fucking dare you not wait for me.”
I feel the dozens of eyes on us, I hear the frantic sudden silence, everyone straining to overhear with all their might.
Mara is just as conscious of these elements as I am. Maybe even more so.
Yet she faces me boldly.
Because she anticipated this. Planned it, even.
“I missed you too, sweetheart,” she says.
Then she kisses me on the mouth.
