CHAPTER 7 FAE
FAE
What the fuck was that? Did I just… nearly sleep with Roman?
Oh God. Why the hell did that have to be so good?
I will never survive a man like him. Does one even want to survive a man like him?
I am not so sure. What I am sure about is this cannot happen again.
But now I have had a taste, I don’t know how much control I can have around him.
Okay, new rules.
One, do not be in a room alone with Roman. Two, do not drink around Roman. Three, do not think about Roman and his sinful mouth, the way he bites, the way he licks, the way he completely disarmed me and made me forget where we even were… no, fuck. Stop.
Jesus Christ, I am so fucked.
Robyn would love this.
The sad reality is, whilst I may be a little messed up from this, I don’t think Roman is.
He will go back to being the controlled and unreadable person he usually is, as if nothing happened.
But something did happen. His words, I waited a long time, loop in my head and I grit my teeth. That can’t be right… surely?
It doesn’t make any sense.
For one, Roman doesn’t wait. He takes. He does not stand around pining over girls he barely tolerates half the time.
And secondly… my stomach twists as I come up blank.
My mind slips back to the way he looked at me.
Not just in the heat of the moment, but after.
The way he stepped back when I told him to. He didn’t argue or push.
I have never had a man do that before.
I exhale slowly as butterflies explode in my stomach, dragging my bottom lip between my teeth as my thoughts spiral somewhere I do not want them to go.
Maybe I read it wrong.
But then… I always do.
He has never been good at understanding emotions and I have never exactly made mine clear. Most of our interactions consist of me pretending I don’t care and him pretending I don’t exist. The only time that line ever blurs is when alcohol is involved and my self-control disappears completely.
That’s when I gravitate towards him like a moth to a flame.
And every single time, he shuts it down.
So no. Whatever that was… it doesn’t mean what my brain is trying to make it mean.
It can’t.
Roman will have a promised soon and I’ll be shipped off to the compound.
Just the way it was always supposed to be.
Maybe we do need to fuck just once to get it out of our system.
Maybe he can be kind. He did stop, after all.
What’s one time in the grand scheme of things?
I could take the memory and know how a man is supposed to act when sleeping with me.
It could be like extra curricular study or something.
I sigh. Roman leaving it in my court is literally the worst thing he could do. There have been one too many rejections and no matter how many times Robyn tried to make me feel better about it, it didn’t work.
She often reminded me that he was certifiably insane and even more so when he would deny me, but the problem is, she doesn’t know the whole truth of who I am.
Sometimes I desperately wanted to tell her, but that is the problem with these secret societies.
The emphasis is always, secret. I cannot expect Roman to want to date someone like me.
Maybe, in a different life, we could have worked, but this isn’t a different life. This is my reality. Roman, dating a prostitute who murders? Yeah… all sorts of things would have to fly for that to be real.
Roman can have anyone he wants. I mean, he literally will have anyone he wants after graduation.
Soon, the rest of my cohort will be married off to each other.
Nothing screams ‘respectable citizen’ like a marriage license.
The ones of us who aren’t chosen will never be allowed and life as we know it will change.
I thought missing Robyn was hard, but when I’m shipped off to the compound without Felix to protect me, Riggs to make me laugh, Victor to listen to my problems, Atlas to hold me or, hell, even Roman to drive me insane, I’ll finally understand what loneliness actually feels like.
Felix tries to tell me there is hope, but him and I both know deep down that simply isn’t true.
Men don’t want their property fucking other strangers and I don’t have a choice.
It’s either do my job alone or refuse and die.
Father sealed my fate the moment he decided I was to be a Swallow.
There are plenty of women in The Company who aren’t.
Their parents wanted their legacy to live on, their DNA passed down.
But me… well, I am just the spare. I always have been.
So many people get excited when I tell them I am a twin. I have lost count of how many times I have been asked if I feel Felix’s pain or know when he is in trouble, all the usual questions people ask when they hear two people once shared a womb.
The reality is, most people don’t see the truth because the truth is ugly.
What Father sees doesn’t fit their idea of a loving parent.
The heir and the spare. Felix was born first and he is a man.
That was all that ever mattered. Father’s hatred towards women was always there, woven through my childhood, but after my mother died, it became something else entirely.
Women stopped being people to him. They became tools.
Pulling out my phone, I check the time. Did Roman really just rock my world in less than fifteen minutes? I internally groan at that as I walk back into the ballroom.
My thong is still hanging on by a thread, brushing against me every time I take a step and I almost wish he had just cut it off completely.
Now not only do I get a reminder every time I move, but my body is still embarrassingly sensitive, the heat lingering low in my stomach like it hasn’t quite caught up with the fact that we stopped.
I should have at least let him make me cum.
Now I am also going to have to destroy this dress and that just pisses me off even more. Breathing in deep, I scan the room.
Charles and his mistress are where we left them and I make a quick detour to pick up two drinks for Roman and me.
My plan was always to stay until the bitter end.
Nothing screams guilty more than someone running from the scene of the crime.
Roman said it was untraceable, but if it’s not, I need to hide in plain sight.
I also need to make sure the job is actually done.
The drug reacted quickly for me, yet Charles is still sitting there holding court like he is completely unaffected.
A hand touches my elbow, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I jump.
“It’s just me, Tink.”
“Roman.” I nod to him and give him his whiskey. “Here, take this, we have a job to do.”
“Wait, I just—”
“Jesus Christ, Roman.” I cut him off through gritted teeth. “Assignment first, annoy me with whatever tone-deaf thing you need to say later.”
His face takes on a peculiar look. I hate that I have never been able to read him. Considering part of my training was to pick up on all sorts of micro expressions, you would expect me to understand him more, but I simply can’t when it comes to him.
His face settles back into that usual controlled mask as he nods. His free hand wraps around my back, landing on my hip, and for a split second I let myself believe this is our reality as Roman guides me back over to our table and pulls out my chair.
“Welcome back.” Charles smiles like he genuinely missed complete strangers. If I could get away with rolling my eyes, I would. Although, at the rate I feel the need to do that, I suspect they would be permanently stuck there. “Are you having a good evening?”
“Quite,” Roman states firmly, moving his chair closer to mine as he sits. “Anywhere with Faith means it is good.”
God, he is smooth. Maybe he could make a good spy.
Charles chuckles at that.
“Ah, enjoy the young love whilst it lasts. Soon she will be on at you for the smallest of things. I have lost count how many times my wife has moaned at me for not putting my dirty clothes into the laundry basket.”
Charles rubs his chest and the motion causes me to freeze.
I finally get a closer look at him and notice that the usual sheen of sweat clinging to his skin seems worse, his mistress is visibly recoiling beside him.
There is a slight tremble to his hand as well as the ice cubes clatter in his tumbler.
“Oh well, we won’t have problems with that. I clean up after myself,” Roman responds, leaning forward as he flicks my hair from my breast and places it behind my back. Leaning in, he stage-whispers again, “I will do anything for my little one.”
Him using little one is not lost on me and my body reacts like a Pavlovian dog, begging my brain for its next fix of endorphins. I turn to him, place my hand on his thigh, and squeeze hard on a pressure point.
“Oh, you are a darling,” I lie, watching with satisfaction as the slightest wince flickers across his face before I let go. Now is not the time to make him pass out.
“Anything, little one,” he states again, his eyes drilling into mine like he is trying to say something in code.
Charles starts to cough; both of us whip our heads back over to him. His face has gone bloodshot red and his eyes look like they are about to burst from his skull.
“Everything okay?” I ask, faking concern.
“Yes, yes,” Charles splutters, picking up his whiskey and taking another sip. “Do not mind me.”
“You don’t look very well, sweetheart,” his mistress says, dabbing at his brow with a napkin. Charles swats her hand away like an annoying fly.
“I’m fine,” he snaps. “Just go and get me a glass of water, will you, woman?”