Chapter 23
Valentina
A Week Later
Wednesdays specialize in trapping you with the thoughts you'd rather ignore. All week, I've been dodging mine with Olympic precision. Today, nothing is working.
Ever since Brax went to Adrian's penthouse and then called me to ask if I hurt Blue, we've been off. He told me he stuck up for me and assured them she was lying. Yet he still had to ask me and then question me again when I told him I didn't.
That girl gets to break into my home, throw shade at me, and then accuse me of cutting her, and I'm the villain?
I should have cut her.
I would have gone directly across her face.
The thought of Blue with a scar similar to Kirill's gives me a momentary surge of satisfaction.
Then it dies quickly.
Everything was good between us until Blue showed up. Now, I don't know where we stand. It's not a big enough rip to unmake the mess we created, but it's enough to wedge itself between every thought I have about him.
We've barely spoken in days. I'm not intentionally avoiding him, but he's been buried with the O'Malley fallout and his Underworld duties. I've been drowning in my own business endeavors, and they are the kind that demand precision and composure, which right now, I'm faking.
Secretly, I'm freaking out.
My pulse crawls raw under the surface. I snap at Zara every time she asks if I'm "okay." Then I have to apologize when she winces from my aggression.
It's surprising that she and Fiona even asked me to go to yoga with them. But they came over, demanded I go, and since I was only sitting around spiraling about Brax, I didn't argue.
So now I'm in the last stretch of class. Zara's on my left. Fiona's on my right. Both of them watch me like I'm a porcelain vase someone dropped once already.
"Your breathing is loud," Fiona whispers.
"That's the point," I mutter, sinking deeper into the stretch.
She counters, her lips twitching, "No. Yours sounds like you're trying to strangle the floor."
Zara snorts inelegantly. "She's stressed."
"I'm not stressed," I say sharply.
Zara raises an eyebrow. "You did a downward-dog during tree pose."
Fiona adds, "And we had to stop you from telling the instructor her voice 'lacked purpose.'"
I argue, "It does. She sounds like she does enlightenment on Decaf."
Zara presses her lips together to keep from laughing.
Fiona doesn't bother hiding hers.
The instructor looks our way and scolds, "Shh."
I roll my eyes and move into a child's pose.
The class soon ends, and I hug them both and head for the lobby.
I walk to the SUV. Fiona's driver stands at attention. I slide into the back with my mat strapped under my arm, every muscle in my body humming with frustration. And it's not the yoga kind. It's the Brax kind that I can't escape.
The drive to my condo is quick, and I'm rehashing the same crap I've been all week.
I rehearse what I'll say if he calls.
I rehearse what I'll say in text if he doesn't.
Then I rehearse the conversation I will absolutely never have with him because that would require us to actually see each other.
The SUV pulls up to the curb. I get out, step into my building, nod at the concierge, and ride the elevator up. I tell myself the same thing I've been repeating all week.
He's busy. You're busy. Space is normal.
Then the one thought that hurts me the most flares bright.
He's bored with me already.
My heart hurts, and I unlock the door, and my pulse betrays me. The faint scent of his cologne is unmistakable, and every part of me turns electric.
Then his voice ricochets through the condo. "Did you learn any new positions you want to try out, Minx?"
I freeze.
Brax sits on my sectional, leaning back like he owns the place. His gray T-shirt stretches across his chest. His thighs bulge against his jeans. His arrogant expression burns bright.
Flutters fill my stomach. I narrow my eyes. "Why are you here?"
He lifts a brow. "I'm not allowed to see my wife?"
"I don't know." I toss my yoga mat in the closet and spin toward him. "Are you?"
His jaw tics. "You tell me."
I unzip my hoodie, suddenly hot. "You've been ghosting me for days."
He stands abruptly. "I've been working."
"So have I."
"I know."
I can't help it. I cross my arms. "Interesting. It didn't seem like you remembered that when you asked if I cut Blue."
His mouth flattens. "I didn't ask. I wondered if you didn't tell me everything."
"That's worse."
He stalks toward me, each step slow and deliberate. I force myself not to step backward and keep breathing. He scowls. "How long are you going to stay pissed at me for asking you a question?"
"How long are you going to pretend you shouldn't have already known the answer?" I counter.
He snorts. "Because you've never cut anyone before, right?"
I shake my head. My voice rises. "No, Brax. Because I would have told you I cut your precious Blue!"
Anger flies across his expression. He warns, "Don't ever use those three words together like that again."
Our stares lock. The air pulls tight, charged with that dangerous thread we dance too close to. My pulse stutters, and his gaze flicks down my body before snapping back up.
He runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, then shakes his head. "We're not doing this."
"We're already doing it."
He steps closer. "What do you want from me, Minx?"
I stay quiet.
He lowers his voice and slides his palm on my chin. "Want me to say I'm sorry I asked?"
My voice wavers. "You didn't just ask. You asked again after I told you no."
His face hardens. He inhales slowly, then exhales even slower. "Okay. I should have only asked once."
I shake my head. "No. You should have known I would have told you an important detail like that."
"You're right. I'm sorry, Minx."
The apology hits like a punch I wasn't ready for. My chest warms, then aches, then wants too much. I'm tongue-tied, unable to put any coherent thoughts together.
"So are we going to fix this little problem of ours or turn enemies?" he asks, running his thumb over my jaw.
I look away before my expression betrays me.
He exhales through his nose. "Can we forget about Blue and deal with an actual problem?"
I look back at him, fretting, "What problem?"
"Royal Council meeting is tonight."
I blink. "Yes. I'm aware."
"I don't like you going without me."
The words hit differently. My stomach knots in a way that isn't anger, or logic, or anything I want to inspect too closely. His protective instincts always hit me sideways, mostly because I'm used to surviving without anyone taking my safety personally.
"I'll be fine," I insist.
"You're going with Kirill and Fiona."
I freeze, arching my eyebrows.
"I set it up. They'll pick you up at nine."
Confusion, heat, and something else twist through me. "So you made arrangements behind my back."
"Yes," he challenges.
I should argue. I should snap something cruel or defensive. Instead, all that leaves my mouth is a quiet, "Thank you."
His eyes darken, and the tension between us shifts. His mouth curves. "You want your gift?"
"My what?"
He points toward the far side of the room. "Over there."
A black velvet box wrapped in a crimson bow sits on my entryway table.
How did I miss it?
My breath catches. "What is it?"
His lips twitch. "Open it."
Excitement fills me more than I want to acknowledge. I pick it up and look at him.
He grins, urging, "Go on."
I untie the bow, lift the lid, pull out a scarlet eye mask, and gape.
It's stunning, crafted in deep, lacquered red and onyx black.
Sharp, sensual lines on the mask command attention while they seduce and threaten in equal measure.
The ornate filigree crown along the top glitters with crimson gems that catch the light like drops of fresh blood.
Roses in lush shades of scarlet and wine spiral along the edges, their petals so vivid they could be real.
The darker leaves curve through them, layered with black pearls and onyx stones.
The entire thing looks painted and alive. It's beauty shaped into armor.
A whisper escapes me. "Brax… It's beautiful."
His voice drops low. "You haven't looked at the best part." He steps closer, hooks a finger under the central crest, and tugs.
A narrow steel blade slides free.
"Holy shit," I mutter.
"I'm not letting my wife go anywhere unarmed again," he declares, pinning me with his heated stare.
My throat tightens unexpectedly. A sharp sting I can't swallow down builds behind my eyes. I blink fast, but it doesn't stop the warmth rising through me like a tide.
He watches me closely, expression shifting from smug to concerned. "Don't cry."
"I'm not crying."
"You are absolutely crying."
I swipe a tear quickly. "No, I'm not. Something got in my eye."
"Sure, Minx. Whatever you say."
I study the mask and the knife, then toss my arms around him. "Thank you."
He hugs me hard and mumbles, "No one's fucking around with my wife."
I softly laugh.
His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair, and he lowers his forehead to mine. "One more thing."
"What?"
"I trust you. Even when I'm an idiot who forgets how to show it," he proclaims.
My breath catches.
He brushes his thumb across my cheek. "And I don't want distance between us anymore."
My voice barely rises. "Me either."
He kisses me, stealing my air and anger alike. His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer, and anchoring me in a way that unravels everything inside me.
I tighten my arms around him, kissing him with every ounce of affection I have.
When he finally pulls back, his mouth lingers on mine. "We're good?"
I nod against his lips. "We're good."
He kisses me again.
And just like that, the fracture between us seals. All my hours of worrying fade away.
Brax presses one more kiss to the corner of my mouth, slow and lingering, before pulling back to stare at me. His gaze sweeps over my flushed cheeks and damp lashes with an expression that makes my stomach tighten in a way I don't dare to examine yet.
Then his phone buzzes.