15. Yasmina #2
“You don’t have a lot of allies. I’m a dick, but even I can’t kick someone when they’re down.” She turns with two pairs of pants in her hands. “Now, on to more important things. Jeans or slacks? What are you feeling?”
“Jeans.” I’ve only owned a single pair, and I had to sneak them in because my father had strong opinions about what was considered appropriate clothing. Denim didn’t make the cut.
“Girl after my own heart.” She pulls out several more pairs and drops them next to me. “Work through this pile and tell me what you like, and we’ll go from there.”
We pass the next hour like that, and I can tell Tink intentionally keeps the conversation away from trickier topics.
As much as I want to drill her for information, I allow it.
She’s been kind to me, but at the end of the day, she owes her allegiance to Hades, and I’m not fool enough to think two styling appointments can sway that.
After she leaves, I dress carefully. I don’t know what Jafar has planned for tonight, and even as part of me tangles with the concept of taking Meg’s offer, the rest of me is abuzz with anticipation.
How can this be?
The only thing I’ve ever wanted is to be free. To make my own choices, to live without a sword hanging over my neck. To move through the world as a normal person. Meg’s offer would give me that.
No doubt I’d have to make some allowances for lifestyle.
She may give me enough money to get me started, but I’d have to learn fast on my feet, starting from the ground up.
The idea of it is staggering. Just a few nights ago, I told Jafar I couldn’t do it on my own. What if I was wrong? What if I can ?
He won’t let me go.
Even if he releases my trust fund—and I have my doubts about that—he won’t let me leave the city.
I can pretend having money of my own will put us closer to equal footing, but it’s a lie.
Jafar is too overwhelming. He touches me, and I forget all the reasons I don’t want any of the life he’s shoved me into.
I start to think that maybe this beautiful cage isn’t so bad, as long as he’s in here with me.
Except he’s not in here with me. He has all the power. I have none.
Jafar walks out of the elevators as I pour a glass of wine.
He looks as decadent as ever, though the image is smudged.
His charcoal suit is tailored to perfection, but his brown skin glistens as if he’s recently run.
The thought of Jafar running home to me is too intoxicating to dwell on, so I turn my attention to his hair.
He’s due for a cut; the waves have morphed into curls, a change that almost makes him seem more approachable.
More touchable.
He checks his stride and pivots to head in my direction, his purposeful steps eating up the length of the living room.
He rounds the kitchen island and stops short.
I try not to warm at the way he drinks in the sight of me, but it’s a heady feeling to have Jafar’s full attention. To have him appreciating .
I take a shaky sip of my wine. “You’re late.”
“I’m sorry.” The apology might sound more sincere if his voice hadn’t dropped an octave. “There was a complication.”
I don’t want to ask, but I can’t seem to help myself. “Ali?”
“Still in the wind.” Jafar nods at the wine bottle. “Pour me one?”
If he tried to command me, I might dig in my heels simply for the sake of doing it. I’ve already lost so much, and every moment I spend in his presence is a moment when I question whether I really want to escape.
Yes. The answer must be yes.
I pour a second glass of wine and pass it over.
Jafar takes a long drink and leans a hip against the counter.
For the first time in…ever…he looks like a man.
Simply a man. Gorgeous beyond belief, yes, but merely human instead of this hurricane that rips me from my foundations with every word and touch. ? 5
He runs a hand through his hair, the move obviously the source of his curls getting the best of him. “I underestimated him.”
I blink. “You mean you’re not all-knowing and all-powerful?”
“Very funny, brat.” His second drink of wine is shorter, but the tension riding his shoulders seems to ease a little.
“The majority of my focus was on undermining your father and staging the coup. If I had waited, this wouldn’t be an issue, because I could have handled them both at the same time.
But I didn’t wait.” A shrug. “I’ll get him in the end. He’s good, but I’m better.”
I pick apart that statement. He’s said something to the same effect before, but we usually end up fighting or fucking before I can dig deeper. “You changed your timeline for me.”
For a moment, I think he might deflect. “Yes. I could tell you that the reason is because a marriage is a whole hell of a lot harder to dismantle than a parental relationship when it comes to a shift of power, and it’d even be the truth.
But not the full truth.” He sets his glass down and meets my gaze directly.
“I’ve seen what’s left of the women who share Ali’s bed. ”
My breath stalls in my lungs. I reach for a response, any response, to dispel the tension building between us. I try for a wry smile. “Does he chase them through his house and then fuck them right there in the middle of the floor when he catches them?”
“Don’t do that.” Jafar shakes his head.
“Don’t do what?” I’m being intentionally dense, but we’re poised on the edge of a precipice, and I don’t know what will happen to us if we tumble over. We won’t be able to go back. That’s the only certainty.
He doesn’t move from his spot, doesn’t approach to touch me in a way that will bring me to my knees in submission. His brows draw down over dark eyes. “Have I ever done anything to you that you didn’t want?”
I expect a challenge in the question, a prideful assertion of a truth we both know.
Of course he’s never done anything to me that I didn’t want.
I’ve desired Jafar ever since I set eyes on him, first because he was forbidden to me and later because I like the way I spark to life when he’s near.
Our verbal sparring sessions were the highlight of my life, a few short minutes when I felt like a real person and not simply a golem, going through the motions at someone else’s command.
Except that’s not what I see in his expression.
He looks almost sick.? 6
“I’ve wanted it. All of it. More.” Words to damn me.
Words to pass him all the power and leave me quivering at his feet.
How am I supposed to walk away from this man when his key turns my lock in a way I’ve only ever read about?
If my books are to be believed, this kind of connection comes around once in a lifetime, if you’re lucky.
What kind of fool would I be to run from that?
One who wants to be free.
Jafar nods slowly. “To the original topic—I couldn’t let him get his hands on you, so I moved the timeline.”
I’m not naive enough to think that he did it solely for me.
He’s told me as much. It doesn’t change the fact that my safety has never been a priority for anyone.
Oh, the safety of my body to keep my father’s prized possession in peak condition and unmarred?
Yes, that mattered. But that’s not what Jafar is talking about.
Not bruises and cuts and things that will heal given enough time.
He’s talking about wounds that will scar even if no one can see evidence of them on my skin.
I sip my wine. “Thank you?”
“Don’t thank me. If I had half a conscience, I wouldn’t have taken you.”
If he hadn’t, then Ali would have tracked me down to wherever I fled and brought me back to Carver City. That’s the truth, one we’ve discussed between us. I don’t understand why he’s conveniently forgetting it now, why he’s chosen to flog himself with our situation.
I frown. “What happened this weekend?” This is the moment, the precipice, the point of no return when he’ll let me in or he’ll keep me walled up in this penthouse in the name of safety. I hold my breath and wait.
Jafar picks up his wineglass again. “Have you thought about starting school?”? 7
It takes every skill I possess to keep my expression placid despite the dizzying feeling of being dashed to pieces.
Jafar cares about me. Even if he’s a cold bastard, I’ve never really doubted that.
But he doesn’t see me as capable, not really.
I’m a valued possession, a pet who needs careful handling in order to thrive.
I’m not strong enough to be equal to him.
If I stay here, I never will be.