Eternal Adoration (ON PAUSE)

13. A Deal

ARISTIDE

When is the best time to tell a virtual stranger that agreeing to be your wife will be a benefit to her?

Is it best to do it when she's pensive and anxious about the loss of a roof over her head? Does it make sense to spring it up on her when you drive her to your apartment? Or is it better to keep talks of unions and 'I dos' for the morning?

I debate these questions as Seraphina sets her bag on the floor by the couch, her body naturally drawn to the bookshelf where Giorgio added new books. I didn't explicitly ask him to do that, but when I mentioned bringing her to the apartment, he understood my meaning.

"New titles," she mutters, her fingers grazing the spines. "I've been meaning to read this one. Couldn't find it at the library . . ."

"Take anything you want." I clear my throat, blinking away from her form when she leans down to look at the lower shelf, her sweatpants stretching over her ass. "Giorgio can't possibly read them all."

She mumbles something, probably expressing her gratitude, but I turn my back to her to open the fridge, just to do something with myself. Perhaps the chill air will slap some sense in me, clear my head, and get my blood to stop pumping so fucking hard over mere stretchy sweatpants.

"Are you hungry?"

My hand tightens around the steel handle, my eyes closing for a brief moment. After taking a deep breath in, I send up a quick prayer for strength and wisdom, then I step away from the door and shut it before turning around.

"No." I look at her as she leans against the counter, unable to not stare at her hair. "Are you?"

"Not really." She shrugs, her hand reaching up almost nervously as I keep staring like a psychopath. "Is something on my head or something?"

I shake my head. "No. It's just different. Your hair, I mean."

"Oh." She laughs slightly, pulling at a curl and letting it bounce. "Yeah, it's not straight anymore. I got it straightened a bit ago and it was bound to curl back up with this weather. So I just washed it."

"It's nice." It's more than fucking nice, it's beautiful. It's luscious and dark and springs out of her high ponytail in a way that feels like her. Like brightness and smiles and sweetness.

"Really?" Her voice is low, insecure, very unlike her.

And it pisses me off instantly, in a hot flash of annoyance, so sudden and so real I have to grit my teeth and cross my arms to keep it from showing.

"Really."

"Thank you." is her shy reply, big eyes blinking up at me, making me wonder how she'd look in another setting. "That's nice of you to say."

Goodness, she is sweet.

The realization makes me want to lock her in my room and throw away the key and keep her there. Shield her from the world, from me. Especially now, when she's not herself. Not fluttering around my space, asking a million questions, blabbering about historical facts and random assertions like why secondary sources are often laden with bias.

My phone chimes, a message from Peters stating that Seraphina's things have been delivered. I expect this to mean that he and Gino, one of my other men in training, have left the bins in front of my door. But with Peters, you should expect the unexpected.

"Peters?" I open the door, giving the guy a dry look. "Why text me when you could have rung the bell?" My eyes drift over the three bins, noticing that Ezekiel took the time to fold the air mattress and squeeze it between a bottle of shampoo and a loofah sponge.