21. Helen
HELEN
I’m halfway through sorting photos when I hear Victor at the door.
“Helen of Troy!” he greets me. The wheels of something roll across the concrete floor.
I turn to find him holding a sleek graphite suitcase.
“Couples who travel together stay together,” he says cheerfully. “And matching luggage strengthens the case.”
“Jag?” I blink at him. “What’s this?”
“I told you. We’re going to Europe.”
“I’m pretty sure I said Europe was boring.”
He laughs, brushing that aside. “That was before you played the Game. You’ve had your excitement. Now it’s my turn. Come make me happy.”
“When are we going?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I push back from my desk. “I have work.”
“Come on, Helen. Work can wait.”
“No. It can’t.”
He steps closer, leaving the suitcase where it stands.
“You’re busier than ever, eh? Compounding effect of success, I suppose,” he says wryly. “But you haven’t forgotten about me, have you?”
“Oh, Jag.” I take his hand quickly, almost too quickly. “Of course not.”
“And why am I feeling that you are starting to?”
“What do you mean?”
“You canceled dinner. Twice. Coffee’s been…rushed.”
“I’ve been flat out,” I say. “I just need a bit of notice, that’s all.”
“A bit of notice?” His brow lifts.
“Yes. Like not inviting me to Europe with twelve hours’ warning.”
He laughs. “Helen, you overthink everything.”
He pulls me closer, his hands at my waist, as if the distance was the only problem. His mouth finds mine before I decide whether I want it to.
I kiss him back, searching for the tug in my heart that would make my knees weak and my mouth want more.
His grip lowers. “You taste incredible,” he says against my mouth as he kneads my ass cheeks. “Europe isn’t just museums and cobblestones. I’ll take you to the countryside. French villas. Vineyards. Olive groves. You’d love it.”
“I know.” I spread my palm over his chest, unsure if I’m disappointed or okay that I haven’t felt anything. “Just…not tomorrow. I’ve promised Summit Tail the next phase for review next week. That’s not optional.”
“Babe, you’re a hundred thousand dollars richer overnight because of me. You can’t give me a week?”
Since when does he start babing me? And…I straighten and take half a step back. “You knew about the money?”
“Of course I do, Helen. I got you in.”
“So I only earned that because of you?”
His brow pulls slightly. “I got you in,” he repeats.
“And I played the game.”
He softens and looks at me as if searching for something he used to find effortlessly. “Look, I’m not here to argue with you. But truth is, I’m feeling like I’m being sidelined. How long ago was our fugu dinner? Two months? More?”
“About that.”
“We haven’t even slept together.” His voice drops, no teasing now. “It used to be impossible to keep our hands off each other. And don’t tell me that was just because you were eighteen. You and I, us, you still feel it, right?”
I look into his eyes, the ones I used to melt for, the ones I once believed were the answer to everything.
“Yes,” I say.
I want that to be true. You don’t give up on someone after only a couple of months of trying. And just because my life suddenly includes an attractive man in a Red Fox mask and a handsome vet doesn’t mean I’m in love with either of them—or that either of them is meant to stay.
His hand falls away slowly.
“When I wasn’t with you in the game,” he says, “who were you with?”
I stare at him. “What?”
“You didn’t spend the whole night with me. Who did you choose?”
“I didn’t choose anyone. I played with whoever was there. Mouse. Gladiator. Zebra. Seashell. It was dark, Victor. What is this?”
“Come on, Helen.” His jaw hardens. “I know when you’re deflecting.”
“I was with you at the end.”
“Huh.”
That single sound does more damage than shouting would.
“Those questions,” I say, heat rising in my chest. “‘Confess something you’ve never said aloud.’ ‘Do you love him?’ You fed those in, didn’t you? You were testing me.”
“And were you answering truthfully?”
I let out a breath that isn’t quite a laugh. “I didn’t want to risk losing a hundred grand, Jag.”
Anger draws his face taut. “I don’t like this,” he says.
“I don’t either,” I shoot back. “And who started it?”
He scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “Last chance. Are you coming with me or not?”
“No.”
He takes another look at me. “Fine. I’m going,” he says. “Sort yourself out before I get back.”
“You’re threatening me?”
“No.” His voice cools. “I’m telling you.”
He turns and leaves, dragging the suitcase back across the concrete floor.
That wasn’t an invitation. Victor didn’t come here to take me to Europe. He came to see whether I’d follow.