CHAPTER 36 FAE
FAE
The door clicks shut behind us and I stand there, letting the quiet settle over my skin. Felix’s place used to feel like the guys. It was all clean lines and dark furniture that was laced with a faint scent of aftershave and gun oil that clung to everything they owned.
Now it’s softer around the edges.
There’s a pale pink hairbrush abandoned on the arm of the sofa. A can of hairspray half-hidden behind a lamp. A floral deodorant sitting beside their keys. The air smells different too. Not unpleasant, just layered. Sweet instead of sharp. Feminine over masculine.
Laughter has lived here recently.
You can feel it in the way the cushions are indented, in the second mug left on the coffee table.
Its not bad. It just feels… strange. Like walking into a version of their life I wasn’t there to witness.
Felix doesn’t seem to notice my pause. Or maybe he does and chooses not to comment.
He brushes past me towards the kitchen and I follow, the sound of our footsteps brush against the carpet.
Victor is leaning back against the counter, his arms folded, his posture deceptively relaxed as Hazel stands next to him.
She looks… better.
Colour has returned to her cheeks. Her hair is clean and brushed.
She’s wearing one of his jumpers, that is too large for her frame and there is still something fragile in the way she holds herself, like the warehouse is stitched permanently into her bones.
Her eyes lift when we enter and a look of gratitude flickers there but as quickly as it appears, the shadow comes back twice as fast.
Iris stands beside her, quiet and watchful. She is one of Atlas’ promised and honestly, they are perfect for each other. They both carry a softness that is hard to find in this world and as she gives me a small, careful smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, it reminds me of him.
“Hey,” I say softly, because anything louder feels wrong.
“Hi.” Hazel swallows, her voice thin, but I hear the bravery underneath it and it makes my chest ache.
“You look… good,” I add and I mean it. She’s upright. She’s here. She’s alive.
“I’m trying,” Hazel’s lips twitch in an almost smile.
Iris steps forward and squeezes her hand in silent support as Victor walks over and drops a kiss on my cheek.
“Thanks,” he whispers in my ear but I’m not sure what he’s thanking me for.
My feet shift with uncertainty as my eyes dart back to Hazel, watching her watch us.
I’ve always been wary of the guys getting close to other women, not because I want them but because there’s this expectation that we can’t be just friends with the opposite sex.
I brace myself for the snarky comment, for her to storm off, for Victor to pull away, but instead she just smiles again before lifting her drink to her lips.
My gaze cuts to Victor and he nods like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. For half a second, it feels almost normal, like these women could fit seamlessly into our lives.
I wonder what Robyn would think.
Out of the corner of my eye Hazel flinches, her gaze shifting behind me.
I don’t need to look to know it’s him. Roman is standing in the doorway and for one impossible, fragile heartbeat, his eyes are soft.
They find mine the way they always do. Instantly.
Like there has never been a world where he didn’t know exactly where I was.
Relief touches his face first. Then it disappears as I watch his focus sharpen and his gaze drag over my cheek before stopping at the bruise. I can feel it blooming beneath my skin in ugly purples and blues. Father’s whole hand is probably visible if you look hard enough.
Roman always looks hard enough.
I sigh as Roman strides towards me, his steps quick and purposeful.
He shoulders Victor out of the way without breaking stride and Victor just rolls his eyes before moving back to Hazel.
The second Roman reaches me, his fingers hook under my chin and tilts my face up.
His nostrils flare like an angry dragon as he takes me in.
The kitchen falls silent and the low buzz of the fridge is the only sound left in the room.
“He did this to you?” He grits out, his teeth clenched as he angles my face towards the light.
Something about the way he asks makes me bristle.
I’m not sure if it’s Father’s words looping in my head or the weight of the future I’ve been handed, but it irritates me that I can’t get a clear thought.
I’m always like this around him. Somewhere along the line, I went from being perfectly fine on my own to imagining what it would be like to have him as my husband, but that’s not what I want… is it?
I almost scoff.
What I want doesn’t matter anyway.
It’s either Roman or Fisher.
It’s either death for everyone, or just death for me.
“Well, it wasn’t Felix,” I snap before I can stop myself.
My heart is pounding as I take him in and step back.
Roman squints at my body language before flicking his eyes behind us and then grabbing my wrist. It isn’t tight enough to hurt, but it’s firm enough to command.
I follow him like a puppy as he pulls me through the house and into his room.
His bedroom door slams so hard the walls seem to flinch.
I barely have time to breathe before he’s pacing. Back and forth. Like a caged animal trying to find a weak point in the bars.
“What did he say?” Roman demands.
I rub at my wrist where he held me, more out of stubbornness than pain. “Ro, it’s best if I don’t say it.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
I swallow as I consider lying. Pretending Father didn’t look me in the eye and promise to kill him.
But that’s not who I am. I may be many things, but a coward is not one of them.
I choke down the ache and let it harden into something sharper as I square my shoulders even though they feel made of lead.
“He said,” I start, my voice coming out steady even though I’m crumbling inside, “that if I don’t marry Fisher… he will kill you.”
Roman stills.
“And?” he says.
“And what?” My brows pull together.
“And what did you say?”
What did I say?
Did I tell him he couldn’t force me into marriage? Did I tell him to go to hell? Or did all the words die from my mouth the second Father looked at me like Roman was already a body?
I can’t even remember.
Did I argue after that, or did something inside me go terrifyingly calm? Did I already know, in that quiet, sickening way you do when a gun is pressed to your back, that I would marry Fisher?
Because I did.
I knew.
I knew this was the end for us, just like I always said it would be. Just like I always feared. No matter how much I want him. No matter how much it feels like tearing my own heart out with my bare hands.
No one else dies because of me.
Not for love. Not for some fairytale ending we were never meant to have. Wherever my prison takes me, I’ll walk into it willingly. I will sacrifice myself for him, for Felix, for the guys.
Over and over again.
Roman must take my silence as answer enough, his laugh is sharp and humourless, as it pulls me out of my musings.
“Right,” he nods “you didn’t did you?”
“I didn’t what?”
“You didn’t tell him to go to hell. You didn’t tell him you’d choose me.”
“It’s complicated,” my chest tightens. “This isn’t about choosing you.”
“That’s bullshit Fae and you know it, I told my mum, my dad, fuck I even told Quinn where she stood.”
“You shouldn’t have,” I say softly. “Quinn is the right person for you.”
“Fuck that,” he snaps “you are the right person for me, you just need to choose me back.”
“No, Roman,” I state as heat flares through me at him not understanding, “this is about survival.”
“Then we survive god damnit; together.”
He steps closer to me like we’re magnets drawn to one another and I lift my palm to rub my heart at the pain there. Trying to find some resolve, I shake my head, already feeling the crack forming.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
“If I marry Fisher, you get to live.”
My hands tremble. I hate that they tremble as I watch as Romans jaw ticks.
“Over my dead body.”
“That’s the point!” I explode. “You don’t get a say in that if you’re in a grave!”
The room feels smaller, the air thinner as I take in his eyes.
He has these flickers of humanity saved just for me and there’s a softness in his expression that makes my resolve feel like glass.
I watch as he runs his hand down his face as he collects his thoughts.
He nods to himself before taking in a deep gulp of air.
“Okay fine, we will get married sooner rather than later.”
“What?” I blink at him.
“We get married. Today or to tomorrow. I don’t care. We make it legal. We make it binding. He can’t force you to marry someone else if you’re already my wife.”
For a moment I just stare at him. Of all the things I expected him to say, that wasn’t it.
A tremor moves through my hands, no matter how hard I lock my fingers.
His eyes track the movement and his teeth grind.
The fear of him doing something stupid feels suffocating in my lungs as anxiety claws up my throat, tightening until every breath feels borrowed. Has he not been listening?
“You cannot be serious.” I demand.
“I’m dead serious.”
“That’s your solution?” I laugh but it sounds hysterical even to my own ears. “Marriage? Like this is some fairytale loophole?”
“It’s good strategy.”
“It’s stupid.”
His expression darkens. “Watch your mouth.”
“No,” I fire back. “You watch yours. You think signing a piece of paper fixes this? You think my Father gives a damn about legal technicalities? He’ll burn the church down with us inside it.”
“Then let him try.”
“That’s not brave,” I snap. “That’s reckless.”
“I can protect you,” his nostrils flare.
“You can’t even protect yourself from him.”
The second it leaves my mouth I want to snatch it back. It hits him like a physical blow.
“You don’t believe in me?”
“This isn’t about belief.”
“It’s about love.” I freeze as he steps closer, “I love you.”