CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Maximus
Maximus had never seen Daphne cry before.
The sight made him sick to his stomach yet also giddy at the same time.
Even with tears in her eyes, she was beautiful.
Perhaps more beautiful than without them.
He felt a wild urge to make her cry even harder just to test the theory.
But that was a foolish endeavor. This was his chance to warm her to him.
This was the way into her heart, and he was not about to waste it.
Daphne stood by the fire, her arms crossed.
It only served to accentuate the completely sinful nature of her dress.
Her corset was laced in the front. Maximus had never seen one like that before, but he hoped he would again.
The effect on her figure was diabolical, showing off everything he desperately wanted to touch.
He couldn’t stop his eyes from going to it, even when he knew Daphne could see him looking.
Maximus was no saint. He was a human man, and a woman had been placed before him.
What the fuck else was he supposed to do?
He watched as Daphne brushed her hair over her shoulder in a languid motion that immediately took him halfway to being hard.
Maximus turned and stared determinedly at the bar cart.
His cock throbbed between his legs, straining against his trousers.
He needed to get himself together. If he said the wrong thing—did the wrong thing—she would leave.
It was imperative that he control himself.
Maximus waited an appropriate amount of time before turning around and handing Daphne her wine.
She accepted it with a nod before downing nearly half the glass in one gulp.
Maximus raised his eyebrows. Without a word, he refilled her glass.
“Thank you,” Daphne said before taking another inordinately large gulp. They’d made a pact to get drunk together, and he was quite sure they were both fulfilling it.
“My pleasure.”
He watched as Daphne sat. She didn’t even bother with the armchairs; she simply plopped herself on the carpet and stared into the fire.
Maximus watched her in bewilderment. This was quickly turning into one of the most unusual evenings of his life.
And yet, he could not complain. To hell with convention.
If she wanted to sit on the floor, he would sit there too.
Maximus poured himself a red wine and joined her on the floor. They watched the fire together. He had already decided he would let Daphne speak next.
Eventually she did. “I can’t believe how well you play piano.”
She was paying him a compliment. He would do well to accept it. “I took lessons for many years.”
Daphne smiled. The flames reflected in her eyes. “Do you love it?”
Maximus considered what it meant to love something. “No,” he said. “But I find it beautiful. Do you love it?”
“It’s gorgeous. And…sad.”
“Some might say you are both those things yourself.”
She blushed.
He wanted to kiss it from her cheeks.
“Only half of that was a nice thing to say.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being sad.”
“Boys don’t like sad girls.”
“I like everything about you.”
Daphne smiled, her cheeks flushing even more.
“Don’t you like anything about me?” Maximus insisted. He was being pathetic, but he didn’t care.
She smiled wider. “Yes.”
Maximus shifted closer. “Tell me.”
“I like your hands.”
Maximus looked down at his hands. They were the same hands he’d had his entire life—long, thin fingers. Pale skin. Nothing special. “Is that right?”
“Yes.” Daphne slid her fingers into his, interlacing them.
Maximus froze. Every time they’d touched before now, he had initiated it. Now Daphne was looking at him and touching him and saying that she liked his hands. It was everything he had ever dreamed of and more. He barely managed to say, “What do you like about them?”
To his delight, Daphne laughed again, throwing her head back so that her curls cascaded over her shoulders. It took every ounce of his self-control not to press his lips to her neck.
“They’re steady,” she said. “I like that.”
Maximus didn’t know what to say. There was nothing to say. The only thing he could do was savor the way Daphne was holding on to him—as if he were something precious to her. If she liked that he was steady, he would be exactly that for her.
“And,” Daphne giggled. “They’re big.”
Now that was unexpected. Maximus had no control over the size of his hands, yet he was suddenly quite thankful for his genetics. He held his other hand up between them. “Shall we compare?”
In reply, she splayed her hand flat against his, their palms were pressed together. “See?” She beamed up at him. “Big.”
Maximus couldn’t help but laugh. It was true; his hands were far larger than hers.
They were almost comically mismatched—her fingers came barely three-fourths of the way up his.
Despite the size discrepancy, he loved the way they looked together.
Her hand felt right when flush against his.
Tentatively, he curled his fingers down over Daphne’s, demonstrating just how big his hands actually were.
It was a surprise even to him. To Daphne, it was a delight.
“If I had known you liked my hands, I would have done more with them.”
Her mouth twitched. “Like what?”
Maximus threaded his fingers through hers, interlacing them so that their hands were clasped together. “What would you like me to do?”
Daphne giggled but didn’t answer. Instead, to his utter surprise, she turned around, leaned back, and laid her head in his lap.
Her curls splayed out in a voluminous halo, pouring over his legs in a dark, shiny wave.
She settled herself with a contented sigh, wiggling her shoulders until she was in a comfortable position.
Her wineglass was near her head, and Maximus moved it, setting it on the armrest so it was out of the way.
Daphne didn’t seem to notice. She didn’t seem to notice much of anything right now, and that was not a problem for Maximus.
He was happy simply to experience this moment with her.
He couldn’t believe Daphne was here. He couldn’t believe she was lingering.
Every single second seemed to stretch into an eternity.
His leg was going numb, but he didn’t care—all the money in the world couldn’t have motivated him to move it.
She was nestled in the crook of his knee as if she was made to be there.
He stared at her, transfixed. How had he never noticed just how many freckles she had?
They were everywhere—not just on her cheeks but scattered across her nose and her neck and even the tips of her ears.
There was one on the Cupid’s bow of her lips.
Maximus wanted to kiss it. But he knew that would break the moment.
So he sat in contented silence until Daphne whispered, “What do you like about me?”
It was the last thing Maximus expected her to ask. Daphne didn’t need his approval nor had she ever sought it before. Yet there was a hint of vulnerability in her voice, and he knew without a doubt that the question was sincere.
“I like everything about you,” he said. “You’re perfect.”
Daphne shook her head. “That’s not a real answer.”
“Of course it’s a real answer. It’s the truth.”
“No, it’s not.”
Maximus considered this, realizing she was right. No one was perfect; to say otherwise was to lie to her face. Yet her imperfections were exactly what he liked about her.
“I like the way you make me feel,” he said.
Daphne shook her head. “That’s no good either. That’s not about me.”
“Yes it is—it’s the way you make me feel.”
She shook her head again. “Doesn’t count. Try again.”
Maximus sighed in mock exasperation. In truth, he was gleefully happy, perhaps happier than he’d been in months.
He thought about all the things he liked about Daphne—her curly hair, her infectious laugh that he heard far too little of, her incessant attitude.
Even when she was insulting him or pushing him away, he liked her.
Hell, that only made him like her more. The fact that she wouldn’t simply give in to him meant she had standards—something women like Veronica could never comprehend.
He liked all of those things, but he finally decided on the thing he liked the most: “Your compassion.”
It was an easy answer. He was surprised he hadn’t thought of it immediately.
The incident with the spider came to mind: how she’d urged him to see the value of a life, no matter how small.
It was a lesson that had stuck with him ever since and changed the way he viewed the world.
No woman had ever made him feel like that before—no woman had ever prompted such introspection.
It was that same introspection that had prompted him to write to her after finding the letters from Kronos.
If Maximus wanted a future with Daphne—if he wanted her to marry him and one day bear his children—he knew that future could not include the bloodletting.
It was a concession he was willing to make. The prize would be worth it.
This answer, finally, seemed to satisfy Daphne.
She smiled up at him. He wondered if this was how she acted with the people close to her.
He could imagine her at a bar with her friends, pink-cheeked and smiling, just the way she was now.
What a privilege to feel he was a part of her world, even for a moment.
He smiled back down at her, and for a moment, they simply existed in perfect peace.
Then the moment deepened, and Maximus felt a shift in her energy.
Her eyes dropped to his lips. At first, Maximus thought he might have imagined it.
But when she raised her hand to his face, there was no doubt what she was reaching for.