Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
A nd so it went on. And on, and on, and on, for almost a week. Cherry avoided him with impressive conviction and iced her way through their dinners; Demetria scolded him about checklists and convincing performances like a schoolteacher; and Ruben became desperate. Really fucking desperate.
He didn’t want it to be like this. Fuck, none of it was ideal, and it was completely his fault, but...
He kept thinking back to the woman he’d first met at the Academy.
Her spark, her knowing humour, the confidence that danced through everything she did.
Now that woman was trapped in his gilded cage, doing everything she could to keep him at arm’s length, and it was taking its toll.
She seemed a little more tired, a little more subdued, every day.
So one night, about a week after they signed that damned contract, he made a decision .
Was it a sensible one? Probably not. But then, he wasn’t known for his sense.
Ruben lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what it said about his life that he was tucked beneath the sheets before 10.30 p.m. Nothing good, probably.
And then the idea bit him. Bit him, and wouldn’t let go.
You should see Cherry. Talk to her without Demi’s list and Agathe breathing down your neck.
But Agathe’s the only thing that makes it bearable. If she’s not around, Cherry probably won’t talk to you at all.
Or she’ll lose her temper and scream at you for half an hour.
Now that sounded good. That sounded great . Ruben didn’t want her blank stares or her polite answers or her pointed avoidance. He wanted her to bite his fucking head off.
Maybe she’d feel better afterwards.
He leapt out of bed and yanked open his door, striding out into the hall. Then he remembered that he was naked, and turned right the fuck back around. If he showed up at her door without any clothes on, there was a 98% chance he’d leave with his balls stuffed up his backside.
Throwing on some pyjama bottoms and a dressing gown, he started the short journey again. He was marching down the hall with a discipline he hadn’t felt since his rather uneventful time in the air force.
But when he reached her room, the fire in his gut was snuffed out as reality flooded in.
This wasn’t going to work. What was he going to do, force her to speak? Prod at her until he got the response he wanted? Because that would make her feel so much better.
With a sigh, Ruben rested his head against the cool surface of her firmly closed door.
She was so fucking close, and it didn’t even matter.
He’d dragged her into his bullshit and fucked up her life, just because he wanted her.
No matter how different he liked to think he was, in reality he was just like his siblings: an overgrown, spoilt brat who treated people like toys.
Why would Cherry want anything to do with him?
He turned, ready to leave. But then a thought captured him: if he wasn’t enjoying this, she wasn’t either. But if they got to know each other, perhaps they could rub along for a year without her feeling trapped, always being on her guard.
Maybe someone just needed to make the first move.
He hesitated, hovering at the door like a ghost. His common sense was telling him to turn the fuck around and go back to bed, but his instincts disagreed.
Always follow your instincts.
Funny; that mantra kept failing him recently. But it had served him so well for so long, he couldn’t give it up after a few failures, could he? Maybe something good was waiting at the end of all these apparent mistakes.
Taking a deep breath, Ruben knocked gently on the door.
For a moment, nothing happened. But then a voice called, “Demi?”
Ah, fuck. He definitely should’ve left. “It’s me. ”
Another pause, and then she said, “Oh.” That was it. Oh . He couldn’t tell if she was pissed or just surprised. He couldn’t tell if that single syllable meant I see, or Screw you .
So he said, his voice embarrassingly tentative, “Um... Can I come in?”
“Why?”
“Cherry,” he sighed. “Let me come in.”
For a long, long moment, he thought she’d tell him to fuck off. He wouldn’t be surprised. But when she did finally speak, all she said was, “Fine. Come in.”
He froze. Did she really mean that? Had he misheard? Or—
“For fuck’s sake,” she snapped, “hurry up. Before I change my mind.”
For once, Ruben did as he was told.
The room was veiled with inky darkness. As he shut the door behind him, his vision blanked out completely. But he waited, knowing his eyes would find the faintest scrap of light somewhere, if he gave them a chance. He’d spent a lot of time locked in dark rooms as a kid.
Sure enough, the outlines of furniture came into view, so faint and shadowed he wasn’t sure if he really saw them, or somehow sensed them.
But those were the kinds of fanciful thoughts he’d taken comfort in as a child— maybe I’m special, maybe I have powers, and one day I’ll use them to make everyone pay.
Now he was an adult, and he knew that his supposed night vision was thanks to cracks in the curtains and underneath the doors, and pupils wide enough to drink in those drops of light and put them to use.
He moved gingerly through the room, still managing to catch a side table with his hip, but not falling over anything or otherwise disgracing himself.
When he reached the foot of Cherry’s bed, he felt a little presumptuous sitting down—but the darkness was too disorientating for him to stand on ceremony.
“Oh, by all means,” she said acidly as he sank onto the mattress. “Make yourself at home.”
“There’s at least four feet of space between us, so don’t have a fit.”
“Why the hell did I tell you to come in?”
Ruben sighed. “I don’t know. I’m insufferable. I apologise.”
He received nothing but silence in reply. He couldn’t quite grasp the quality of that silence. Was she agreeing, or simply surprised by his words, or too tired to bother with conversation? He supposed it didn’t matter.
“Believe it or not,” he said, “I didn’t come here to irritate you.” The words reminded him of conversations with his siblings. He was beginning to think he had issues. He felt the sting of rejection too keenly, and yet, he chased it down.
“So why did you come?” she demanded. Even though she’d been lying in the dark, she didn’t sound tired. But then, as far as he could tell, she spent all day in the library reading books and playing with her cat.
So he just said, “Our meetings aren’t going well. ”
“Meetings,” she murmured. “Is that what we’re calling them?”
“I don’t see what else we could call them,” he said reasonably. “Preparation for the Grand Deception?”
She snorted. Which was close to a laugh, right? He’d made her laugh once. Before she’d learned to be wary of him.
Spurred on by that snort—edged in derision though it was—he tried again. “Improving Cherry’s Ruben-Threshold?”
“Something like that,” she admitted. She shifted slightly on the bed, and he felt the motion through the mattress as if they were lying side by side.
He’d said there was distance between them, but he had the oddest feeling that if he reached out, his hand would find her ankle, or her calf.
He laced his fingers together and put them firmly in his lap.
“I know this is hard,” he said. “And I know you don’t like me, and you don’t trust me. But this will go easier on both of us if we know something about each other once we leave this place. And fuck, I wish we didn’t have to, but we do. I do.”
“And I do too,” she murmured. “I decided to do this. I agreed to it. And I suppose I have been… shirking my obligations. Which isn’t the way I usually behave.”
He chose his words carefully. “I think you could be forgiven for feeling unlike yourself, at the moment.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” she said dryly. “But the world keeps turning, and all that. I think I’ve wallowed long enough. It doesn’t really suit me.”
“If you’ve been wallowing, it was the most graceful and glamorous wallowing I’ve ever seen. ”
She did laugh at that; an adorable little giggle that bubbled out like water from a fountain.
She tried to hide it; he could tell. He couldn’t see her, but he’d bet money on the fact that she’d put a hand over her mouth.
Didn’t matter. In the quiet of the night, and with the way she captured his attention so very thoroughly, he couldn’t miss it. And the sound made him bold.
“I want to know you,” he said, honestly enough. But he clambered up the bed as he said it, finding the headboard with outstretched hands before settling down beside her.
She tutted. “You think you’re so smooth.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
She tugged at the covers. “You’re hogging the blankets.”
“I’m not even under the blankets.”
“I should bloody well hope not. But you’re lying on them and it’s pulling them off me.
” He felt her foot knock into his calf through the covers, a glancing blow.
He wasn’t sure if she’d kicked him on purpose or if she’d come across him by accident and snatched herself away in the next breath. He wanted her to do it again.
But that wasn’t why he’d come, he reminded himself sternly.
“I think we should play twenty questions,” he said.
Her reply was doused in sarcasm. “Oh, really ? Are you going to ask me if I’ve ever kissed a boy?”
“No. I save that sort of thing for truth or dare.”
“You’re ridiculous. ”
“I certainly am. Shall I go first?”
“You can ask. No guarantee I’ll answer.”
“Fair enough.” He paused, pretending to think of a question.
In reality, he didn’t have to think. His mind was nothing but a jumble of questions when it came to her; there were a thousand things he wanted to know, and as soon as his questions were answered he’d think of a thousand more.
For some reason, he’d developed a mild fixation on this woman. Probably because she didn’t want him.
But, once upon a time, she did want you. And you were no better back then.