Chapter 23 #2
"Don't what? Tell the truth?" Silas's smile sharpened. "How many has it been now, brother? Since you fled to this charming little backwater? A dozen? Two dozen? I lost count."
The words hit their mark. She could see it in the way Thallos's shoulders went rigid, in the slight falter of his aggressive stance. Old wounds, she realized. Old weapons, long since sharpened.
"This isn't the place," Thallos said through gritted teeth.
"Isn't it? I find it rather appropriate, actually. The sacred grove where you've been… tutoring your florist." Silas's gaze slid to Marigold, knowing and cruel. "Did he tell you about the magic here? How it lowers inhibitions, amplifies desire? Rather convenient, wouldn't you say?"
"That's enough." Thallos moved before she could blink, closing the distance between himself and Silas with predatory speed.
He grabbed his brother by the collar, hauling him close.
"You want to hurt me? Fine. I'm used to it.
But you don't get to touch her. You don't get to poison what we have with your jealousy and your bitter little games. "
For one tense moment, the brothers stood locked together, their faces inches apart. Something passed between them—years of history, of rivalry, of wounds that had never healed.
Then Silas laughed.
It was a cold sound, utterly without humor.
"Jealousy. Is that what you think this is?
" He placed a hand on Thallos's chest and pushed, creating distance between them with surprising ease.
"I'm trying to save the girl from making the same mistake so many others have made.
Falling for Thallos the charmer, Thallos the seducer, without realizing that underneath all that magnetic appeal is a man who doesn't know how to stay. "
"You don't know anything about me."
"I know everything about you." Silas's voice dropped, losing its mocking edge for something rawer.
"I've watched you destroy every relationship you've ever had.
Mother. Father. Me. Every woman foolish enough to love you.
You run, brother. It's what you do. And when you're done with this one"—he jerked his chin toward Marigold—"you'll run from her too. "
The silence that followed was absolute.
She watched Thallos's face, searching for denial, for reassurance, for some sign that Silas's words were nothing but poison. But what she saw was worse than denial.
She saw doubt.
"Thallos," she said softly.
He turned to look at her, and the anguish in his eyes nearly broke her heart. All the playfulness stripped away, all the charm dissolved—this was the man beneath the mask. Vulnerable. Terrified. Expecting to be abandoned.
Just like me, she realized. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"Don't listen to him," he said hoarsely. "He doesn't—he's just trying to—"
"I know." She moved toward him, ignoring Silas entirely. "I know what he's trying to do."
"Marigold—"
She took his hand. His fingers were trembling.
"You didn’t tell me about your brother."
"I know." He swallowed hard. "I was going to. I just… I didn't want…"
"I understand." And she did, suddenly. All those conversations where she'd spilled her heart about Daisy, where he'd listened and held her and never once offered up his own family wounds. Not because he didn't have them, but because he was too afraid of what she'd think. Of how she'd react.
Just like she'd been afraid to let him see her real feelings.
They were so alike, the two of them. Both hiding behind walls, both terrified of rejection, both convinced that the people who should love them would eventually leave.
"How touching," Silas drawled. "Truly. But I wonder, Miss Bloom—when the time comes, and it will—will you still be so understanding? When he disappears in the middle of the night, or decides that your little flower shop isn't exciting enough, or finds someone younger and prettier and more willing—"
"I think you should leave."
Her voice was calm. Steady. The same tone she'd used when she finally stood up to Daisy, when she'd claimed her independence for the first time in her life.
Silas blinked, clearly thrown. "I beg your pardon?"
"Leave." She stepped forward, positioning herself beside Thallos rather than behind him. "I don't know what happened between you and your brother. I don't know why you're so determined to hurt him. But whatever poison you're selling, I'm not buying."
"You don't know him like I do."
"You're right. I don't know his past. I don't know every mistake he's made or every person he's disappointed.
" She lifted her chin, meeting Silas's dark gaze without flinching.
"But I know who he is now. I know how he treats me.
And I know that what we have is real—not because it's easy or perfect, but because we're both fighting for it. "
Silas's expression flickered—surprise, frustration, something almost like grudging respect.
"You're making a mistake."
"Maybe. But it's mine to make." She squeezed Thallos's hand. "Now leave. Before I have to ask him to make you."
For a long moment, no one moved. The grove seemed to hold its breath, the fireflies frozen mid-flight, the crickets gone silent.
Then Silas laughed again—but this time there was something different in it. Something that might, in a less bitter person, have been admiration.
"Very well." He straightened his collar, smoothing away the wrinkles where Thallos had grabbed him. "I can see when I'm not wanted. But this isn't over, brother. We still have family matters to discuss."
"Tuesday," Thallos ground out. "As your message said. Not before."
"Tuesday, then." Silas's gaze lingered on her for one more moment—assessing, calculating. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Bloom. Truly. I can see why my brother is so… captivated."
He turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows between the trees with the same unnerving grace he'd arrived with.
The silence stretched.
Then Thallos let out a breath that seemed to empty his entire body, his shoulders slumping, his head bowing forward. He looked like a man who'd just survived a battle he wasn't sure he'd won.
"Marigold." His voice cracked on her name. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have—"
"Why didn't you tell me?"
He flinched. "Because I was ashamed. Because every time I think about my family, I remember all the ways I've failed them. Because I was terrified that if you knew about Silas—about what he is, about what I've done—you'd realize I wasn't worth the trouble."
"The trouble." She turned to face him fully, her heart aching at the devastation in his eyes. "You think loving you is trouble?"
"I think I'm not the man you deserve."
"That's not your decision to make."
He stared at her, speechless.
"I've spent my whole life letting other people decide what I deserved," she continued, her voice soft but fierce. "My mother. My teachers. Every boyfriend who looked past me for something shinier. I'm done with that. I choose what I want. I choose who's worth fighting for."
"And you choose…?"
She reached up and cupped his face in her hands, feeling the roughness of stubble, the warmth of his skin, the slight tremor that ran through him at her touch.
"You, you ridiculous satyr." She pulled him down and kissed him, pouring everything she felt into the press of her lips against his. "I choose you."
His arms came around her—not gentle this time, but desperate, crushing her against his chest like she was the only solid thing in a dissolving world. He buried his face in her hair, and she felt the dampness of tears against her neck.
"I don't deserve you," he whispered.
"Probably not." She smiled against his shoulder. "But you're stuck with me anyway."