Chapter 11 Braxton
Braxton
What the fuck has gotten into me?
At this rate, I’m going to terrify Azalea right back to clamming up and holing herself up inside her room. I need to switch tactics, and quickly. It’s fucked up, but if she’s not ready to slit my throat, I don’t know how to gauge her emotions.
“Just so you know, if I wish to change, I will do so. I don’t need your permission on the matter,” she practically sneers at me, dropping her arms into her lap.
If the fierce glint in her eyes wasn’t so captivating, I’m sure my own would have dipped down to appreciate the bountiful curves that that dress is expertly putting on display again.
“And I can assure you,” she continues, not giving me a chance to respond.
“If I did want to change, it would have nothing to do with you or your opinions.”
She is truly awful at biting her tongue and playing nice, and fuck if that isn’t one of the most torturously desirable things about her.
“Unless you’re using it as an invitation, I suggest you don’t leave dinner early and go to your room.”
I watch her throat work, flicking my eyes back up to see the pure rage burning beneath her honey gaze. And now I’m hard. Noticeably so. Fuck.
She plants her hands on the table and pushes her chair back so forcefully that it clatters to the ground behind her.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she seethes.
Of course she’s right. I would never take something that wasn’t enthusiastically given to me, but watching her get this riled up is too tempting to ignore.
“Oh, I promise you, I would do far more than dare, Wildflower.” My voice grows husky.
Her shoulders tense, and I can see her fighting back the urge to scream at me.
I wonder what it says about me that I want her to.
I want to watch that fragile thread of composure snap.
I want to see her lose herself in her anger and let it fuel her.
She’s so powerful when she finally gives in to that fury, and I fucking love it.
Maybe it’s selfish on my end, wanting her to be consumed by her vexation the same way I’m fueled by mine.
Maybe then she would understand how I’ve transformed into being more monster than man at this point.
But I know she won’t give in to it, not fully.
That’s what makes her better than I will ever be. But still, I try to push her.
“Now, sit,” I command.
She hesitates, her mind no doubt working out and weighing her options.
Eventually, she turns away from me, and I hold a bated breath waiting to see what she’s going to do next.
I watch as she gracefully picks her chair back up, politely declining help from any of the staff who rush to assist her.
Her face becomes impassive as she lowers herself back in her chair, brushing a couple of her loose curls from her face.
“Good, girl,” I coo.
She rolls her eyes, and I watch as the muscle in her jaw tenses. After a few bites in complete silence, Azalea wipes her mouth and looks at me widening her almond eyes to feign a look of innocence. “You know you are as predictable and boring as you are handsome.”
“So you think I’m handsome?” I tease, a playful smirk filling my face.
“Undoubtedly so. You are arguably the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on.” She pauses, lifting another bite of the roasted potatoes to her mouth and taking her time chewing.
“What did I do to earn such high praise?”
“I wasn’t finished.” She sips her water before sitting back in her chair and folding her hands in her lap.
Only then does she look at me head-on, her eyes unblinking, unwavering, and filled to the brim with hatred.
“You are arguably the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on, and still I am so repulsed by you that I would rather have my skin flayed from my body with a dull, rusted knife than have to be in your presence a moment longer.”
I feel the muscle in my jaw feather.
“Being around me is that difficult?” Her words sting more than they should. I know she can’t stand me and will continue hating me unless she finds out the truth. Unfortunately, the truth is the one thing I can’t give her.
“Undoubtedly so.” She shrugs as if her bruising words didn’t just land their mark on me.
“What if I were to make it more bearable?”
“Doubtful that you could.” She shakes her head before turning her attention back to her food.
“I’ll let you ask me one question.”
She doesn’t look up at me, but her spine straightens just slightly, and I know I have her attention. I can see she’s trying to conceal her emotions, but the flicker of excitement is unmistakable even as she keeps her head down.
“One question?”
I nod. Now she finally meets my gaze. My eyes roam over her stunning features, lingering on her pouty lips.
“Five questions,” she bargains. She knows that this is an absurd request; she’s clearly testing me.
“Three,” I counter, leaning back in my chair.
“Per day.” She leans forward, steepling her fingers on the table.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Three questions per day. After all, if you want to make yourself more tolerable to be around, you should let me ask you questions every time we’re together.”
My eyes narrow. One corner of her lips lifts, a small dimple forming in her cheek.
“Deal. Three questions per day.”
Surprise ripples across her face so quickly that if I hadn’t been memorizing her every feature, I would have missed it.
“But,” I continue, and her glimmer of excitement falters, “you cannot ask me any questions that directly pertain to the parameters of our curse.”
She runs her tongue along her plump bottom lip as she digests my words. I ache to pull that lip between my teeth. To start there before tasting every inch of her smooth, golden skin.
Say yes. I plead in my head, waiting to hear her verdict on my offer.
If I can give her leeway in learning more, I can control the narrative of what she learns, all the while having an opportunity for us to get closer.
For the first time in a long time, I feel the slightest glimmer of hope stirring in my gut.
With a final huff, she leans back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest. “Deal,” she concedes. “Can we start immediately?”
“Is that one of your three questions?” I taunt, bringing my water to my lips and taking a slow methodical sip.
“Have you ever been in love?”
I practically choke. Her sickly sweet smile lets me know that this reaction was exactly what she was hoping to see.
“Once.” I provide no further information, hoping her curiosity will bend her will from wasting another question on this topic.
“What happened to her?”
My tongue runs over my suddenly incredibly dry lips before I answer. “She died.” My voice is strained, as my mind drifts back to that awful day. Azalea falters upon hearing my answer.
“Is that what made you the way you are?”
I study her, looking for any sign of pity so I can snuff it out, but I’m content to find that there is none.
“And how am I?”
“An asshole,” she answers without hesitation, and I can’t stop the snort that leaves me.
After thinking on it for a moment, I nod. “Yes.”
“Do you think she’d hate the person you’ve become?”
I can’t tell if this sort of rapid-fire questioning is to try and trick me into realizing I already answered my three questions, but it doesn’t work. I don’t have to answer. I know that, and yet I find my mouth pushing out a response.
“I know she would.”
Azalea doesn’t ask me any more questions. In fact, for the rest of dinner, she doesn’t say much at all. We both become lost in our own thoughts until I hear her chair scrape against the floor.
“I’m finished,” she announces. “Thank you for dinner.” I’m so startled by the civility in her tone and actions that I have to physically keep myself from gaping at her.
“I’m going to retire to my bedroom now. And that is not an invitation,” she hastily adds her last statement, giving me a pointed glare.
“Goodnight,” I reply. My momentary state of shock keeps me from coming up with a better response.
Once the door shuts behind her, I feel the corners of my mouth tilt up in the smallest of smiles. We’ve just started a whole new game, and she has no idea that I’ve already won.