Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Eli
“Ineed to go shopping.”
Those are the first words I’ve heard from Madeleine in two days, and she doesn’t even have the decency to look at me as she crosses the kitchen to grab her iced coffee from the fridge.
Two days ago, when we returned from her bridal shower, she immediately went to her room with a pint of ice cream, slamming the door behind her.
Then, just yesterday, when she finally ventured out, I told her I had made some iced coffee and put it in the fridge for her, but she merely narrowed her eyes at me, grabbed an orange, and retreated to her room, where she spent the rest of the day holed up.
And for the past two days, while she’s been avoiding me, I’ve been replaying that fucking kiss between her and Alastor that I had to witness with a front-row seat.
I tried to take out my fury in her gym basement, but no amount of time spent punching the boxing bags or lifting weights has managed to ease the wrath coursing through my veins when that image keeps resurfacing, taunting me.
Fucking with my head.
The only thing that gives me a semblance of solace is knowing that one day, that bloody wanker will regret ever touching what is mine.
Mark my words.
I lower my coffee mug to the table and observe Madeleine as she pours cream into her drink, either completely oblivious to my presence or pretending that my existence doesn’t faze her in the slightest. Her knee-length black sweater dress hugs her curves, making me wish I could peel it from her skin, inch by inch until it lies tossed on the floor.
Her long raven hair falls to the middle of her back, causing me to imagine wrapping it around my fist as I—
She slams the fridge closed, pulling me out of my thoughts. I internally shake my head and adjust my seat.
Glancing at my watch, I note that I have some time to kill.
So, I’ll play along.
I stand and walk over to the sink, rinsing my mug. I hear the impatient clacking of Madeleine’s heels on the floor as she waits for me, so I decide to take my time. And after hearing an impatient sigh, I finally turn to face her and grin.
I gesture toward the front door. “Lead the way, Princess.”
She takes a breath, closing her eyes as her spine straightens. “I told you not to call me that.”
I give a half-shrug as I pass her. “Old habit.”
As we step outside, her driver, Reginald, pulls up in front of the steps. Just as her hand reaches for the handle, I beat her to it and open the door for her. She shakes her head and steps inside, sliding across the leather seat. I follow her in, taking the seat beside her.
“What are you doing?” she asks incredulously.
“Sitting.”
“You’re supposed to sit up front with Reginald.”
“Nah. I think I like it better back here.” I place a hand on my stomach. “The front seat makes me car sick,” I lie.
Her face scrunches in annoyance, which I find adorable. “You don’t get car sick.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
“I—”
“Fine,” she snaps, turning her body toward the window and as far away from me as the car accelerates. She reaches for the side of her head to tuck her long, dark strands behind her ear, and I notice her hand.
I grip her wrist, and she quickly turns to face me, her eyes wide.
“What do you think you’re—”
“What happened to your hand?” I ask, running my thumb over the bandage as I try to remain calm. But the sight of her injured stirs something powerful inside me.
She sighs, looking away. “Nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing.”
She shakes her head, trying to pull her hand from my grip, but I don’t release it. “It was a cooking accident.”
“Cooking?” I arch a brow.
“Yes. I was cutting…an onion.”
“You don’t know how to cook.”
She scowls. “I can cook.”
The air becomes stifling as the lie settles between us. “For all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you cook one damn thing.”
She looks out her window, unable to maintain eye contact. “I’m fine. Why are you making a big deal out of this?”
Because your safety means everything to me.
“Why are you lying?”
She tugs her hand out of my grip and then rubs her temple. “Just drop it, Eli. Please. I have a lot going on, and the last thing I need is to be interrogated by you.”
Is that so?
I lean toward her, purposefully brushing my lips over her silky hair. “Don’t forget who you’re speaking to. I spent years training in the art of interrogation. I know how to use pain to make a man spill his deepest darkest secrets in a matter of minutes.”
She turns toward me, her face only inches from mine. Her tongue pokes out and swipes across her plush bottom lip as she swallows hard. “But you…you would never hurt me to get information out of me.”
I reach out, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “I would never hurt you. But I do know other ways to make you talk.” I move closer, pressing my lips against her ear to whisper, “Other ways to make you scream.”
A small gasp escapes her lips as I pull back and relax against my seat, facing forward. I watch in amusement as she crosses her legs and turns away from me, trying to appear as if I don’t affect her in the slightest.
A grin pulls at my lips.
Oh, this is going to be so much fun.
“I’ll take one in every color.”
The saleswoman, Lisa’s, eyes grow wide as Madeleine continues scanning the rack of coats, pointing out different styles she likes. “But this coat comes in twenty-five colors…”
Madeleine arches a brow as if to say, And the problem is?
“Of course,” Lisa answers, hurrying off. “I’ll go grab them from the back!”
“Wait!” Madeleine calls after her. “I’d also like each one paired with a matching hat, mittens, and scarf. Oh, and some fluffy socks!”
I drag my hand down my face. I know she enjoys occasional shopping sprees, but this seems a bit excessive, even for her.
As Lisa walks off to retrieve everything, I turn to Madeleine. “Don’t you think twenty-five coats is a bit extreme? People are starving in this world, and you’re buying the same coat in every color just to make a damn fashion statement.”
She pauses, her fingers stilling on a cashmere sweater.
The corners of her lips lift as she faces me with one of the most lethal stares I’ve ever seen.
“One can never have too many coats. Besides, I don’t recall asking your opinion on the matter.
” She shifts her attention back to the sweater.
“You’re here to do your job, which does not require speaking to me. ”
I narrow my eyes on her as I step toward her, crowding her space.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lisa enter the room. Without breaking my gaze from Madeleine, I say, “Do you mind giving us a moment? We have some things to discuss.”
“Ah…umm,” Lisa stutters. “Of course, sir. I’ll go look for more matching accessories!”
Poor Lisa scurries out of the room, leaving just the two of us. Forgetting all reason, I grab her uninjured hand and haul her into the closest dressing room, locking the door behind us.
She tugs her hand out from mine, quickly crossing her arms over her chest as her face mirrors disbelief. “What in the hell do you think—”
“What the fuck has your knickers in a twist?” There’s an edge of authority in my voice, one she doesn’t miss as she juts out her chin in defiance.
Her lips tighten. “You can’t speak to me that way.”
“I can speak to you however bloody well I please. Especially when you insist on being a royal twat.”
A gasp escapes her lips. “You did not just call me that.”
I give a slight shrug. “Seems fitting.”
Her hands clench into fists at her side. “Jesus Christ, Eli. Just do your job and let me out of here.”
I stand tall, crossing my arms over my chest. “Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on. You’ve been even more distant than usual these past couple of days, giving me the damn silent treatment like a child as you hide away in your room with your pints of ice cream to cure whatever the hell is going on inside your head.
And now we’re here, shopping for twenty-five goddamn winter coats. So tell me, what the fuck is going on?”
“Nothing is going on.”
“Madeleine.
“Eli.”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“So, there is something.”
“No. Nothing! Just let me out of here.”
“No can do. Not until—”
“Cressida!” she shouts in exasperation, her hands flying up toward the ceiling. Silence descends upon us as her eyes suddenly widen with regret. “Shit,” she says softly, her eyes pinching shut as her arms drop to her sides.
My brows knit together. “What about Cressida? Is she bothering you?”
She shakes her head, raking her fingers through her hair, her eyes looking anywhere but at me. “Forget I said her name.”
Why the fuck would she be upset about Cressida—Oh.
I can’t help it.
One corner of my lip lifts, warmth filling my cold, beating heart.
She actually thinks I would be interested in Cressida?
I had only been staring at her at the party because I noticed an uncanny resemblance to Alastor, finally putting two and two together.
And sure, I chatted the girl up when she came over to talk to me to be polite, but apparently, Madeleine must think there’s more to it than that.
I mean, Cressida seemed nice enough, sure.
But there’s one problem.
She’s not my Madeleine.
I lean down to her eye level, waiting for her to meet my gaze. The moment she does, I ask, “Are you jealous, Princess?”
Her plush lips slightly part as she glares at me.
Fuck, she’s beautiful when she’s jealous.
And I realize I like this side of her.
I like this side of her a lot.
“Jealous?” She scoffs. “Why the fuck would I be jealous?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “You tell me.” I take a step toward her, watching as she takes one back, pressing herself against the wall. “Is it because she asked to go out with me?”
Her mouth is agape. “She did—I mean.” She clears her throat, appearing flustered, which I know from experience is not something that happens to her easily. “I don’t care what you do in your spare time as long as it doesn’t impact your work.”