Chapter 22 #2
Her mouth trembled with the effort not to say something else.
I wondered if she had slept. I wondered if Miss Astoria had curled herself against Céline’s stomach in the night and whether the animal had noticed the difference in her breathing after the breakup.
I wondered if her friends had watched her too closely this morning, if Sophia had said something careful and Anya something dramatic to cover the fear.
I wondered far too much. I needed her to move in with me so I could study her all the time. She was still performing at the dorm. I needed her by my side so she could be who she needed to be.
“I broke up with him because you forced me,” she said. “Not because I chose you.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think you do.” She stepped closer again, and this time the anger between us changed shape. “You think if you remove everything else, I’ll eventually turn toward you because there’s nowhere left to go.”
“Will you? I can give you more than Thad ever could.” I held her gaze.
The question hung between us. Her breath caught, and there was no hiding it this close.
For one second, neither of us moved. The office felt too warm despite the rain outside.
Too small. The air carried the faint scent of her Dior perfume under damp wool and something softer beneath that, sleep perhaps, or the cat, or the ordinary human warmth she worked so hard to make elegant.
“No,” she said.
The lie was defensive and beautiful. I loved everything about her too much.
“Then you have nothing to worry about.” I smiled faintly.
Her eyes narrowed, but the colour rose beneath her skin.
“I don’t belong to you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Stop agreeing with me like that.”
She made a frustrated sound and turned away, pacing once toward the window. The rain had blurred the campus into grey shapes beyond the glass. From this height, Bellamont looked almost peaceful.
Céline looked down at the courtyard.
“He looked so hurt,” she said.
The softness in her voice irritated me.
“Chad?”
“Who else?”
“Yes,” I said. “He did.”
Her shoulders tightened. “Did you enjoy that? He’s a good man; he didn’t deserve this.”
I considered lying. “No.”
She turned back, surprised despite herself.
I continued, “I enjoyed him being gone. Not his pain specifically.”
“Is that supposed to comfort me?”
“No.”
“Then why say it?”
“Because it is true.”
She studied me, the anger in her face shifted into something warier.
“You really don’t know how to be a decent man, do you?”
“No, my love. For some reason, I can only be wicked when it comes to you.”
I took another step closer.
“You should go to lab,” I said.
“You brought me in here to tell me that?” She laughed once, quietly and disbelieving.
“I didn’t bring you in here. You came, remember?”
Her lips parted as if to argue, then closed again.
Céline glanced toward the door.
She looked at me and said, “If you ever speak to Thad again, I’ll make you regret it.”
The threat should have amused me. It didn’t, at least not entirely.
Because there was something protective in it, and I disliked that.
Thad did not deserve her protection. But perhaps that was the point with Céline.
She protected what she had already harmed because damage did not cancel attachment for her.
It only complicated it until affection became unrecognizable.
I thought of Katherine’s notes in my desk. Yes. That pattern was familiar.
“I won’t seek him out,” I said.
“That is not what I said.”
“It is what I’m offering.”
Her eyes searched mine for a trap.
“There’s always a trap with you.”
“Yes, there is, my love.”
A reluctant, furious laugh escaped her before she could stop it. The sound moved through me with unreasonable force. I wanted it again. I wanted too many things again.
So I stepped back, and Céline noticed with disappointment.
“I broke up with him,” she said, voice lower now. “Are you satisfied?”
“No.”
“Then what more do you want from me?” she asks, with gritted teeth.
I want the part of you that still thinks survival and self-betrayal are the same thing.
I want the girl who slapped me for speaking Katherine’s name and still reached for her notes like they were sacred.
I want the liar, the grieving friend, the thief, the daughter, the artist hiding under a bioscience degree she never wanted, the creature who loves a ridiculous white cat more honestly than she loves any human being left in her life.
Instead, I said, “Better work.”
Her face went blank. Then she laughed. This time, the sound was sharp and incredulous. “You are unbelievable.”
“Your proposal refinement is due Friday, sweetheart.”
“You blackmailed me into ending my relationship, and now you’re assigning homework?”
“Yes,” I smirked.
For a moment, she looked like she genuinely might throw something at me.
Then, horribly, beautifully, she laughed again.
The sound changed the room, and for one brief second, she looked like a normal college girl again, younger, wet hair clinging to her cheek, fury still bright in her eyes but loosened by surprise.
I stared. Her laughter faded slowly. The air thickened again, returning to us heavier than before. She swallowed.
“I should go.”
This time, neither of us moved. Then she stepped toward the door, and I let her.
At the threshold, she paused without looking back.
“You’re wrong, by the way.”
“About?”
“I didn’t need Thad to hide.”
She opened the door. Her voice was quieter when she added, “I needed him to prove I could be chosen by someone Katherine wanted first.”
Then she left.
I decided to get working on reading dissertation drafts again.
Before I could open the file, the door opened again.
Céline stood there, breathing hard, as if the hallway had chased her back inside. She shut the door with more force than necessary and crossed the room in three strides, eyes blazing with the kind of fury that only ever looked like an invitation when it came from her.
I rose to meet her. She had willingly entered my den again. I would not let her leave without a present.
She opened her mouth to shout something—accusations, probably, or another pretty lie about how much she hated me.
I didn’t give her the chance. I caught her face between my hands and kissed her hard, crushing my mouth to hers.
She resisted immediately, palms shoving against my chest, a sharp sound of protest vibrating against my lips.
I deepened the kiss anyway, tongue forcing past the seam of her lips, tasting rain and rage and the faint copper of the words she refused to swallow.
Her body stiffened, fighting me with everything she had—nails digging into my shirt, a muffled growl rising in her throat.
I slid one hand down her back and gripped her ass hard enough to bruise, yanking her flush against me so she could feel exactly how little her resistance mattered.
She bit my lip viciously, hard enough to draw blood.
The metallic taste bloomed hot and sharp between us, and still she kissed me back, desperate now, hips grinding forward as if she could punish me and devour me at the same time.
I groaned into her mouth, the sound low and dark.
Blood and want and fury—perfect.
When I finally broke the kiss, she stumbled back a step, lips swollen and glistening, eyes wide with fury and something far darker.
A thin line of my blood shone at the corner of her mouth.
She wiped it away with the back of her hand, staring at me like I had cracked open something inside her she would never forgive.
“You fucking bastard,” she hissed.
I smiled, slow and sharp. “Lock the door, Céline.”
She didn’t move. Her chest heaved, nipples already tight against the thin fabric of her blouse. I stepped forward, crowding her until her back hit the edge of my desk.
“I said lock it.”
Her hands trembled as she reached behind her and turned the deadbolt with a soft click. The sound seemed to echo. Her eyes never left mine—defiant, furious, already wet with the knowledge of what was coming.
“Good girl,” I murmured.
“Fuck you.”
I caught her by the throat—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to hold—and spun her around, bending her forward over the desk.
Papers scattered. Her palms slapped flat against the wood as I shoved her skirt up over her hips with my other hand.
She was wearing lace underneath, already damp.
I hooked my fingers into the waistband and ripped the panties down her thighs in one rough motion, leaving them tangled around one ankle.
“Vincent—don’t—”