33. Claire
33
CLAIRE
“W hat do you think about this one?” I ask, sharing my fifth—or is it sixth?—unicorn.
Keller glances over the complex anatomy graphic he’s using, spelling the complex names of body parts, ailments or cures. Ever so patient, he looks at it in detail. “I like it more than the first, but the second is still my fav.”
I wrinkle my nose, returning to my second draft. The unicorn looks fierce and smug. “Yeah, it was pretty good.”
I don’t know what’s stopping me.
“Do you want my opinion?” Keller asks while I work on the eighth version, determined to capture the majesty of the second, with a bit more humor.
Arlo did pitch a children’s range after all.
“Send the lot. Or maybe just the best four or five. Most prints rarely feature only one drawing. Add some ornaments, some fun doodles. Maybe a dragon. Arlo is crazy about The Hobbit . And a dire wolf. He likes Game of Thrones , too.”
“He does?” Somehow, I can’t picture Arlo, Mr. Model himself, into nerdy stuff. “What’s your favorite creature?”
Keller grins at me. “Pegasi.”
I gasp, suddenly knowing just what was missing in the second drawing. I liked it, but he truly was too fierce for a unicorn.
Returning to my drawing, I execute the necessary modifications, removing the horn, reworking the coloring to a palomino and white tail, rather than the pink with rainbow braids. A folded pair of wings, and voila.
“Ta-da!” I announce, turning it to him, with a big grin.
I’m not disappointed.
Keller puts his book down. “Bloody amazing. You just did that in the time it took me to read a page? Why the hell are you studying accounting?”
“Because accountants get paid.”
“Sure, but your art is going to make you rich. A lot richer than any accountant will end up. Review your schedule, seriously. Do what you love.”
I chew on my lip. I mean, if we’d had this conversation three days ago, it would be another story. Back then, my art had no prospects. Today someone—someone important—might be willing to do something with it. Maybe I could end up being an illustrator. If I worked hard. If I kept making what people like Arlo might want to publish. Maybe he’d want me full-time, in house.
“It’s not that easy for me,” I say after a second. “I don’t have something to fall back on or a security blanket, you know. If I study art, and then the market keeps collapsing and no one is hiring, I’ll be flipping burgers for a paycheck despite years of work on a fancy degree.”
Keller’s staring at me in a way that makes me want to look down, fidget, do something . So I keep talking. “Take my grandmother. She was a housewife most of her life. No job. Then, when her husband died, she suddenly had to work, and it wasn’t enough. She’s always struggled. She’s old, and she had to wait for your generosity to afford the basic care she needed. My actual mother got an education. She has a nice job. She can afford pretty clothes, sends me lovely presents and the occasional cash transfer, because she can. I know which future I want.”
The unblinking staring only gets darker, but he finally breaks his silence. “Your mother shouldn’t send you the occasional cash transfer. She should have supported you, your whole life, so you never struggled.”
I start to disagree, but he speaks before I can find the words. “As for a security blanket, you have one, Claire. Me .”
My mouth opens, and then closes.
“If the market is suddenly disastrous, and you can’t get a job after graduation, you’ll be fine, because you’ll live with me, with my credit card in your wallet. Just like you do now.”
“That’s…we’re talking years in the future.”
“We are,” he agrees easily.
“You don’t know if you’ll like me in a month, let alone four years.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, I don’t,” I snap. “I’m not relying on any man for my entire future. Even you.”
My voice rose of its own volition. This almost feels like it could devolve into an argument, but I am right, dammit. We’ve known each other a week. We’ve been together for half that. He doesn’t know me. I don’t know him. I enjoy what I’ve seen so far, no matter how crazy that sounds.
He stalked me. He coerced me. He basically offered me a deal that can be defined as prostitution. And despite all that, I like him. Who he is. How he’s treating me. God, I like him more than I should if I was entirely sane. But we don’t know if this isn’t a phase, if we’ll burn away our chemistry by Christmas.
The very thought causes anxiety because I am currently relying on him for everything, including the roof over my head.
“Let’s table this conversation for a while, all right?” Keller says. “You’re a freshman. You can change direction in a year, or two, or three. You can get your bachelor’s, and then start all over again with something else entirely. It’s unimportant. I just wanted to say, I believe you’re talented enough to succeed. I believe that you don’t need a safety net. I said you had one in me, and I meant it, but I get that you’re not there yet. It’s unimportant.”
He returns to his book, writing more Latin-ish words.
I stare at him for a full minute, confused without even knowing why, until it hits me.
We had an argument, of sorts. It’s not the first time we don’t agree, but I started practically shouting, and opposed him. And not only did he keep his cool, not getting angry or defensive, but he defused the conversation, peeling away at the issues until there were none.
And he praised me.
I believe that you don’t need a safety net. You’re talented enough to succeed.
I’m shaken because this is not how people behave. Not in my experience.
I put down the tablet I borrowed from him to draw, and cross the sofa until I’m right against him. When he drops his book again, I climb onto his lap, bringing my arms around his shoulders. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
I don’t know how to say it. I’m not sure saying another word won’t end up making me cry. So I just put my head against his chest and breathe, taking in the regular heartbeats.
He lets me hug him forever. Or at least, until his phone rings.
He sighs, accepting the call. “What?”
I never really noticed the difference between how he speaks to me and other people before.
The single word is cold. He’s not snapping per se, but his voice feels like it’s covered in needles, like a cactus. He comes with a tread carefully warning label to the outside world.
Not to his close family. Not downstairs at dinner—unless he’s addressing Rick the Dick. And not to me.
“Are you coming tonight? I wanna see if it’s worth staying home. Otherwise, I might take Dez to the movies.”
“I’ll ask Claire. I’ll text.”
He ends the call without another word. And here I thought he liked Markus.
“Ask me what?”
“The wyverns are throwing a party. Markus wanted to know if we’d attend.”
That gets me to laugh. “I don’t know, is it safe? My last party did not go well, if you recall.”
He snorts. “I disagree. Everything worked out just fine, as far as I’m concerned. But I don’t mean the public show we threw last week. Their parties upstairs on Saturdays are like ours, down in the basement on Sundays,” Keller tells me, raising one eyebrow suggestively.
“ Oh .” My mouth suddenly feels very dry.
Last Sunday was…something.
“I did wonder. If you were hosting orgies every night down there,” I explain.
Keller doesn’t seem to find my question off color. “Only Sundays and special occasions. The lions, serpents and webs tend to handle Thursdays. Who even wants to party Thursdays?” He makes a face. “The sharks often set up their parties on Fridays—although sometimes we’re invited up to Raventhorn. Saturdays tends to be wyverns, and we vespers do Sundays. Our audience is more specific. Fewer guests, even in other rooms. I prefer it. But Markus wants us there, or he wouldn’t have called. I’m guessing Dez wants to party with her new friend.”
“I do like Dez.”
“Mm. Do you like her enough to watch her fuck my cousin?” he asks.
My insides immediately clench. “What?”
“She’ll ride him right in front of us. She’ll watch you fuck me, too. Markus and Dez don’t share, but they do like shows. Watching them, and being the star performers.” His tongue darts out, licking the tip of my ear and tracing it down to my neck. “So do I. So do you, I think.”
My mind goes back to last Sunday. I was so, so scared, but even then…I enjoyed it. I enjoyed each reminder that there was an audience. And I sure as fuck enjoyed how Keller made me feel.
“Will you wear your mask?” I find myself whispering, like I’m admitting a secret.
Maybe I am.
He lets a heartbeat pass. “Do you want me to?”
Fuck, I think I just drenched my panties. I’m going to have to change them.
Or just remove them.
I nod against his chest.
“Very well. A proper masquerade for you, little ghost.” He said he’d text, but he calls instead. I know it’s for my benefit, so I hear. “We’re in. Tell everyone to mask up.”
“Fuck, it’s been a while. Masks off at midnight?”
“On the dot.”
Jesus.
It’s only twelve. How am I going to survive until tonight in my state?
I do the only reasonable thing, really. I’m in the perfect position for it. My hands move to his belt, and start to undo it.
“Can you fuck me, pretty please? I won’t last until tonight.”
There’s something savage in the deep blue of his eyes. “Oh, yes. I believe I can. I will fuck you all day, my gorgeous little ghost. But you’re not allowed to come until midnight.”
He’s kidding. Right?