Chapter 7 Cassius #2
The only thing was, I hadn’t known what the actual art was. I had just paid the organizers of the event to put her exhibit front and center. It had cost a pretty fucking penny, but there was nothing I couldn’t buy. Except maybe genuine love, but that was never going to be a part of my life.
Now, I took a closer look at her art. And fuck me, it was good. Too good.
In the same way that having Sarah on my arm brought a swarm of heat and passion that I worried might be obvious in my tuxedo pants, the sight of her art stirred emotions I hadn’t felt in years. It wasn’t arousing, not like her touch, but it reminded me… it reminded me…
Fuck.
Her art was way too fucking good. It showed a man grieving at sunrise, overlooking what appeared to be a tombstone. It was… it was…
I fucking hated this. Why did I need a reminder of Virgil now? Yes, of Virgil, of course of fucking Virgil, what fucking else would make me wish I was anywhere else?
But, damn.
A part of me had to respect her work. Rarely was there anything—a person, a news headline, a work of art—that shook me from my core. It had become rarer and rarer the older and more powerful I got. It said a lot about her work that she had done that.
“Yes, your art,” I said. “And may I remind you, you are the artist. You are standing by your art. You must not look surprised by it, but impressed by it.”
The scowl she gave me surprised me, but unlike her art, I did not let it unsettle me.
“There’s no such thing as an artist who's overly in love with their work,” she snapped.
“I’m not asking you to believe what you present, but to do it for the cameras. Or has the moment gotten too big for you?”
She scowled at me. That was the last expression I needed to see right now.
“Smile.”
“Give me a reason,” she snarled.
Oh, this was fun. Real fucking fun. It was almost tempting to let this be the spot where she crumbled; left to fend for herself, I had my doubts about her ability to make it through the night without running to the bathroom in tears at some point. No, that wasn’t fair; Sarah was stronger than that.
But that was beside the point. It was too early. I had to play nice for a little longer. The longer the food marinated, the tastier it was. The longer my vengeance simmered…
“The reason,” I said, walking over and placing an arm around her. Oh, fuck, that felt dangerously tense and good. I cleared my throat, thought of boring spreadsheets, and turned back to her. She was too beautiful for me to pretend her presence wasn’t exciting me.
“The reason?” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“The reason is that you are mine here tonight,” I said, low enough that no one nearby could hear it. “And I will treat you exactly as you should be treated.”
Finally, that brought a smile to Sarah. Finally, she got the picture. Finally, things could move forward.
As the night progressed, we took turns standing by Sarah’s art and wandering around the exhibit.
Both of us played our parts rather well; I was my charming but powerful self, and Sarah had the good sense to smile and be affable to those I introduced her to.
She was properly high class, just pompous enough for the occasion but not arrogantly so.
I dared to say, I almost enjoyed it. Truly, genuinely enjoyed it, no strings or conditions attached.
That was a problem.
If I stayed the romantic date for too long, I might lose sight of why I’d started this deal in the first place. I needed a reason to let my true darkness through. I needed—
“Can we rest someplace?” Sarah suddenly said. “I feel like I’ve been on my feet for three days.”
Yes.
This was it. This was the excuse I needed to be annoyed and angry.
Truth be told, I was a bit tired too. Not so tired I couldn’t perform—I never got that tired—but tired enough that if no one was looking, if I were alone in the room, I might lounge in a chair, sip on some bourbon, and just let my mind wander a bit.
“You want to rest?” I said. “So be it. Come.”
“I—”
“I said come, now.”
I did not wait for her to follow me. I knew she would.
I had reserved us a private room overlooking the gala, one with a couch, a bed, and even a stocked refrigerator bar if we so chose.
I heard her footsteps behind me as we ascended the stairs.
I found the key code in my phone, punched it in, and walked in ahead of her.
I went to the balcony, turning my back on Sarah as I heard her sit on the couch.
For several seconds, maybe even a full minute, Sarah did not say a word. I let my mask fall, my false kindness and warmth, and gazed over the crowd. Millionaires, billionaires, artists, a few actors and actresses… I could control any of them if I wanted. I could buy out any of them if I wanted.
But the one I really wanted? The one I knew I could not buy out, no matter what percent of my wealth I threw at her?
The one I really wanted… to break.
But did I really?
The grim look on my face was becoming less about letting my true side emerge and more about whether I even knew what my true side was.
How could I want to break Sarah’s spirit and heart so badly, yet be so enthralled by her mere touch, presence, and art?
How could I say I hated her and had long-term plans to destroy her when in the short term, I couldn’t look at her without getting wild thoughts of fucking her senseless?
No one had ever made me question the motives I’d begun a relationship—professional, personal, or otherwise—quite like her. I had to remind myself to be objective. I had a plan. That plan was based on the fact that she was responsible for my younger brother’s death. That was that.
But…
“You’re quiet, Cassius,” she said, her voice barely audible over the murmur downstairs. “We’ve had a great night. Why are you suddenly so cold?”
I chuckled and smirked, but I did not turn to face her. Not yet. I had to make sure I chose my words carefully—enough to make her think that she was still in for a great time, but enough that I knew I was still committed to my plan.
Not that I was even sure I wanted to be committed to my plan.
“I have been thinking, Sarah, about what the rest of this night ought to entail,” I said. “I came into this thinking that our time at the Red Court would be the end. But truly, I think we would be better served marking this as the beginning.”
Yes.
That was it.
The beginning of something…
“The beginning of something you will never forget.”