Chapter 28
Ophelia was coming to understand that Sam had a flare for the dramatic. She watched in horror from the doorway as he sprinkled rose petals over the bed.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered in mortification.
“It’s a special occasion.” Sam grinned at her with wicked satisfaction as he sprinkled a handful of petals over the chair in the corner.
She covered her face with both hands. Her resolve was faltering majorly. When he broke out the roses and the wine, she’d been ready to call it all off again—but then she’d seen the new missed messages on the holopad.
Brandon had congratulated Logan on finally getting ‘the prude’ to cooperate, and Logan had replied with a bunch of laughing emojis.
Then Tiffany had texted him, wishing him luck, and he’d told her he couldn’t wait to be back in her arms after.
Whatever regrets he’d been having that morning, he’d clearly gotten over them.
He’d returned to feeling nothing at all about how he’d strung her along for two years, wringing her dry emotionally and financially.
It had been kindling on the fading spark of her anger.
The oven beeped, announcing that the beef Wellington was done baking. Sam brushed past to tend to his ridiculously opulent ‘farewell’ dinner. She rubbed the back of her neck as she trailed after him.
What if it was really a last meal for Logan? Sam had promised not to murder anyone, but…
Sam set the table with her best china. The side dishes were already steaming on the table—potatoes au gratin and asparagus with hollandaise sauce.
Despite everything, the smell of it all had her mouth watering.
He had an overpriced bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon chilling in a bucket of ice in the middle of the table, framed by two flickering taper candles.
“You’re nervous,” he noted, turning away from the roast.
“Of course.”
He wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head. “You have nothing to fear.”
She sank back into him, absorbing that machine warmth that seeped through his synthetic skin. When he held her like this, the anger leeched from her bones. Without it, she just felt weary.
Her eyes drifted over the apartment where she’d spent two years thinking she understood what it was to be loved.
After only a handful of days with a machine, it was so clear that she’d never had a clue.
He had more humanity than anyone in her life had shown her.
Or maybe he had less, and that was what made him so much better.
Tears pricked in her eyes—frustration or anger or sadness, she couldn’t say.
She was about to tell him to forget all of it, to give her the phone so she could tell Logan she didn’t want to see him again, when the lock of the front door turned over.
Sam peeled away from her, falling into that robotic stiffness he reserved for other people.
“Baby?” Logan called, stepping over the threshold with a smile on his face. He set his bag down inside the door and toed his shoes off. “There you are.”
He crossed the room to meet her.
She smiled tightly, turning her face to the side as he dipped to kiss her. His lips met her cheek, and she noticed for the first time how all his kisses were just a little wet—unpleasantly so.
He held her at arm’s length, smile faltering as uncertainty flickered in his eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, forcing herself to smile wider. “Just… tired.”
Of you. Of the bullshit.
All the things she wanted to say were gummed up in her throat, suffocating her.
I know what you’ve been doing, she wanted to blurt. I hate you. You’re a monster. You’ve ruined everything. How could you do this to me? Did you ever love me? Do you have any idea how much I put up with to be with you? Do you think you’re God’s gift?
He ruffled her hair, looking relieved. She smoothed the strands back down with tightly leashed irritation.
“I know the feeling. They’re running us ragged at work.” His gaze shifted to Sam standing behind her. “I’ll have to take him back soon. He’s part of the demo next week.”
She didn’t say anything to that, though the notion made her grind her teeth, and Logan caught her unhappiness.
He gave her a sympathetic look. “He’s grown on you, huh?”
“Yes,” she replied honestly. “He’s… remarkable.”
“Oh, that he is. Decades of work went into him,” Logan said, hands on his hips as he studied Sam with the air of a scientist. “He’s the future of AI.” He chewed his bottom lip for a moment, looking back down at her. “So… you’re really sure? About… using him?”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting around the room. “Yeah…”
“If you don’t want to…”
“No,” he said quickly, sucking in a breath. “I-I do. We should do it.”
Sam rested a hand on her shoulder, and Logan’s eyes were glued to it for a long, awkward moment.
“Have you… already…?”
“We have not had intercourse,” Sam answered for her.
Logan looked up at him, nodding, not considering for a moment that he might be lying. And why would he? Logan had programmed him. As far as he was concerned, Sam was just a machine.
Machines didn’t lie to their creators. They couldn’t.
“I’ve prepared dinner,” Sam said, stepping back with a sweeping gesture toward the table he’d set. “Have a seat.”
Logan didn’t notice the edge to the command or the wolfish look Sam gave him as he made his way to the table. He winked at her behind Logan’s back, flashing a grin. She gave him a long-suffering glare that didn’t seem to move him at all. He pulled out a chair for her with a flourish.
She sat down stiffly, allowing him to push her in so she was sitting across from Logan as he loaded his plate.
He hadn’t even waited for her to sit down.
Sam set her plate as she stared at her fiancé.
Had everything she’d ever admired in him been a projection of what she wanted to find behind his pretty face?
Sam poured the pricey wine like a sommelier at a nice restaurant before taking a seat.
She pushed her food around the plate as Logan ate.
Sam sat between them, his hands folded on the table in that rigid I’m-a-robot-nothing-to-see-here way.
His foot found hers under the table, nudging playfully in an annoying way that made her glare at him for not reading the room.
Her relationship was about to implode, and he was delighting in it a little too much.
She set her fork down with a heavy sigh, pulling her foot out of Sam’s reach.
Logan finally looked up at her. “Are you alright? You’ve hardly touched your food.”
“I’m fine,” she said a little too tightly. She blew out a ragged breath, hiding her hands beneath the table as she clenched them into fists. “Sorry. I’m not feeling like myself today.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Logan whispered. “I’m sure all my late nights haven’t helped.”
That’s what he was sorry for, was it?
“No, they haven’t.” She pushed her wine glass around the table, smearing the condensation on the glass. “Logan?”
“Hm?”
She looked up at him, meeting his uncertain gaze. “Do you love me?”
He swallowed hard at the question even as he smiled in response. “Of course, baby. You know I do.”
Had he always looked like that while he was saying those words? Like he was barely holding back a wince? Had she really been that blind?
“What would you say if I wanted to push up the wedding?” she asked in a saccharine tone, noting how his eyes widened infinitesimally. Was that surprise or horror? “I was thinking I might like to elope. We could do it this month, even. Get it out of the way, start our lives together.”
She didn’t know why she was needling him, but she couldn’t stop. Sam’s expression was totally impassive, so she didn’t know if she was imagining the amusement rolling off of him.
“Oh, I… I don’t know, Effie. The demo is this month, and… I mean, we already have deposits for the venue and the catering, so…” He squirmed, his panic a tangible thing.
“Fuck it.” She smiled insincerely. “It’s my money, anyway. Who cares? Let’s get married, honey.”
Sam turned, giving Logan an expectant look.
He frowned at the android in obvious confusion. His eyes lingered for a moment before he turned his attention back to Ophelia. “Um, I don’t know, babe. We can talk about it.”
“We are talking about it,” she said, leaning forward on her elbows. “Aren’t we? What more is there to say?”
His mouth fell open, but he was clearly at a loss for words.
“Or maybe there’s something else you’d like to say to me?” She batted her eyes at him, her folded hands tucked beneath her chin. “Is there, Logan? Something you want to say?”
His face slowly turned red. He shook his head as he shifted restlessly in his seat. “What’s gotten into you? You’re acting really weird.”
She slumped back hard enough to make the chair creak beneath her, throwing up her hands in supplication. “Sorry, you’re right. I’m just feeling spontaneous this week, I guess.”
He drained his wine glass in one fell swoop.
“Why don’t you tell me about your weekend?” she asked, tapping her fingertips against the edge of the table. “Anything eventful happen?”
He blinked at her, that red flush spreading to his ears. “Not really. Just a lot of boring work stuff. Coding and troubleshooting, you know. The usual.”
“The usual? Really?”
Logan’s frown deepened as he nodded slowly. He reached for the wine bottle and—was that a slight tremble in his hands?
Sam beat him to it, holding it just out of reach. He smiled in a spooky way that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Allow me.”
Logan sat back, pushing his glass toward the android with one hand. “Effie, if you’re still upset about last week, we can talk about it. I can tell you’re not happy with me, and I want to work it out.”
“You do?” The question was flat, inflectionless.
He opened his mouth to reply, but what came out was a curse as he leaped to his feet, toppling his chair over. Sam had poured and poured until his glass overflowed and the wine spilled into Logan’s lap, staining his cream-colored slacks.
“Jesus, what the fuck?” Logan cried, swatting at the growing stain.
“Oops,” Sam said without emotion. He grabbed the cloth napkin off the table and opened it with a flick of his wrist, leaning forward to pat down Logan’s crotch.
Logan yipped—actually yipped, like a small dog—as he staggered away from the touch. He tangled in the legs of his chair and went toppling backwards, narrowly catching himself with a hand on the counter before his ass hit the concrete.
“Don’t!” he cried, holding up a hand to ward off Sam as he followed. “Stay back, Thirty-One.”
“My name is Samuel now.”
“What?” Logan asked incredulously as he righted himself.
“Ophelia gave me a name.”
Logan looked askance at her.
She shrugged, sipping her wine.
“Okay, I’m… going to change. Thirty-One, clean this up.”
The way he ordered Sam around like a dog grated on her nerves, worse than his insincere concern for her. He retreated into the bedroom, and she could hear him rooting around in the dresser.
She set her glass down and rounded the table to pick up the chair Logan had knocked over.
“What was that?” she whispered, gesturing toward the puddle of wine dripping off the edge of the table.
He grinned at her, flashing that dimple in his cheek. “Butterfingers?”
“You warned me not to tell anyone that you’re not exactly”—her eyes darted toward the bedroom, and she dropped her voice further—“operating within the confines of the law. What was the point if you’re going to give it away, yourself?”
“It’s challenging to resist the urge to punish him,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest, a frown tugging on his lips. “Don’t you want him to suffer?”
She bit her bottom lip. “Yes, but—”
Not at your expense, she thought, but the admission felt oddly vulnerable.
“But?” He arched a dark brow.
Something buzzed between them, saving her from answering. Sam opened the stark white jacket of his uniform, pulling Logan’s holopad out from the inner pocket. She leaned close to read the message.
Is it over?
It was from Tiffany. A reply shot back a moment later.
Not yet
Need some inspiration? ;)
What followed was a full-frontal picture that Ophelia desperately wanted to drink out of her mind before it cemented into her memory.
Love you, babe
She grabbed the wine bottle and chugged the dregs until she was a little fuzzy. The sound of glass on glass was loud in her ears as she set it down a little too hard on the table.
“Easy,” Sam soothed, shutting off the holopad and tucking it away.
She stumbled up to him, gripping him by the lapel and dragging him down to her lips.
Her fingers sank into his hair, biting down into the roots, holding him prisoner despite his superior strength.
He softened into her, sliding his hands down her wrists and over her waist and tugging her close until they were molded together.
A sharp intake of breath made her break away, panting.
Logan was standing in the hall, wearing a pair of soft, gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt. A muscle flickered in his jaw, and his brows were pinched. His nostrils flared, and he looked away as though he couldn’t bear the sight of them together.
Jealous? He had the nerve to be jealous when he’d just texted another girl that he loved her?
Bitterness consumed her. As much as she resented him, it still hurt so fucking bad to know she wasn’t enough. She wanted him to feel that pain.
Misery loves company.
She grabbed Sam by the wrist, dragging him over to the hall, then grabbed Logan with her other hand.
“I’m ready,” she said, towing them both along.