Chapter Twelve #2
"You don't have to work out what you want tonight," I tell her.
"I didn't come here expecting an answer.
I came because you left before I could tell you everything, and once I understood why you'd gone, I couldn't leave you thinking you were just another client when I'd already started changing things because I wanted the chance to put you first."
Margot's eyes search mine. "What does that mean?"
"It means I was winding down my sessions before you ever saw Monica.
Not because you asked me to, or because I expected anything from you.
I did it because I knew I couldn't keep treating whatever was happening between us like part of my work.
And because I should have been honest with you before it ever reached that point. "
"Honest about what?" she asks.
There's still one thing I haven't told her, and after everything else, keeping it back feels like cowardice.
"I love you."
Her fingers tighten around mine, but she doesn't pull away.
"I know how quickly that sounds by human standards. We've known each other a month, we've had four sessions, and I'm aware none of that makes this sensible." I take a breath. "But I realized something else when you opened the door tonight. You're my mate."
Margot goes completely still. "Your mate?"
"Yes. And I'm the last one to work it out.
" Despite everything, a little irritation slips into my voice.
"My dragon knew from the moment he saw you.
That's why I reacted to you the way I did from the beginning—the need to keep you close when I have never reacted that way to anyone in six hundred years.
I kept treating each thing as a separate lapse in control because I was too stupid to recognize what was directly in front of me. "
Her eyes have gone bright. "And you trust that feeling?"
"With my life." I turn her hand gently in mine. "But being my mate doesn't obligate you to feel anything for me. My dragon can know what you are to me; he doesn't get to decide what I am to you."
She looks at me for a long moment. "You really love me?"
"I really do. I'm not asking you to say it back, Margot. I only needed you to know that none of this was a service to me and none of it was something I gave to everyone else. It was only you."
Her breath leaves her slowly. "I can't say it back yet."
"You don't have to." My thumb moves once over her knuckles. "If you ever do, I want it because you mean it, not because my dragon got bossy."
Something in her face eases.
"I'm still trying to understand it myself," she says. "I don't want to walk back into the mansion and have everything go back to normal because we had one conversation and you brought me flowers."
"Neither do I. In fact, I don't think there is a normal to go back to."
"I don't want you giving something up because of me."
"You're not making me give anything up, I'll stay involved with the house in other ways.
I built that place with the others, Margot.
I'm not abandoning it." I squeeze her fingers once.
"I had already made that decision before you knew how I felt.
Whatever happens between us, I'm not going back to work that no longer feels right simply because it used to. "
She studies me for a long moment, then nods.
We sit like that for a while, her hand still in mine and the pressed peonies across her lap. It is remarkably uncomfortable to have no plan, no structure and no clear understanding of what comes next.
I suspect that may be good for me.
Eventually, I glance at the time and reluctantly release her hand. "I should let you sleep."
Margot walks me the few steps to the door, still carrying the flowers. I put on my coat and reach for the handle before remembering the one thing I haven't said.
"There is something I'd like you to see one day, if you decide you want to."
She looks at me. "What?"
"My rooms at the house. My actual rooms, not the session spaces."
Understanding comes slowly. "Your nest?"
"No client has ever been inside."
Her gaze stays on mine for a moment before she looks down at the peonies in her hands. "I'd like to see it. Just not tonight."
"Then I'll show you when you're ready."
She nods, and that is enough.
I turn toward the door, but Margot catches my forearm before I can open it.
The scales rise beneath her fingers almost immediately, bronze spreading over my skin with enthusiasm. She watches them appear, then traces one of the ridges with the tip of her finger.
"Does it hurt when they do that?"
"No. Mostly it's inconvenient."
Her thumb passes over another scale. "They're beautiful."
I cover her hand with mine for a moment, then make myself let go.
"Goodnight, Angel."
The name brings a softness to her face that I have missed more than I care to examine.
"Goodnight, Soren."
I leave before I can turn one conversation into a request for more.
The drive home feels different from the one that brought me here. Nothing is fixed. Margot hasn't promised to come back, and she hasn't told me she loves me. She gave me a conversation, let me hold her hand and told me not yet instead of never.
That is more than enough for one night.
When I reach my rooms, the drawer is still open beside the bed.
I leave it that way.