Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Corvus’s face is so open now, like when I’m inside him, and he’s pushed far enough to no longer feel self-conscious. He squeezes my knee. “It doesn’t matter to me that you’re not the best at paperwork, and that kind of stuff. I am. I can deal with it for you, and the rest of it—” He swallows, briefly pulling his teeth over his bottom lip. “I really like the rest, Dalton.”
Be still my heart, because this is not the time to be falling in love.
And yet, butterflies flutter, and my toes curl. I slide closer, and self-worth be damned, I want to be whatever he needs. I press my forehead against his, trembling when he gasps.
“I understand the marriage is just a way to cover the whole blunder at the hunt, that it’s far too much for you, but do we have to be nothing? An arrangement? Can we not be… boyfriends? Privately?”
It’s needy. I’m needy. But this is me holding back when what I want is to crawl under his skin and live there.
“Dalton…” Corvus’s voice is like a breeze I want to feel on my face every single day. “I... yes, of course we can. I mean… I did want us to be exclusive. I hated how you flirted with that guy, and… the wedding in two weeks will be a formal agreement, but yes, we can date for real,” he says, taking hold of my hand.
Is it wrong that deep down I'm already thinking of my wedding vows? That I'm imagining him growing to love me over the years? He's the one who said no divorce, so it only makes sense that we will be a real couple, whatever that might mean for us.
I squeeze his hand as relief floods my system. “I’m all yours.” Saying that feels like giving a sated man a half-eaten apple for dessert, but I hope he finds it sweet when appetite hits him again.
Corvus exhales, his hand gliding across my back as he leans closer, pressing his body to mine. “I have something for you. Would you… accompany me to my workshop?” he asks, and I immediately know he’s referring to the place where he creates his poisons. I was only allowed in once, so this is a privilege I’m not going to scoff at.
My heart is so much lighter now I’m able to smile at Corvus. “I thought you just said we’re boyfriends. Now you want to poison me?”
He switches on the light and rolls his eyes at me, offering his hand. “Father always told me to get rid of the evidence,” he says so seriously for a moment I’m unsure whether he’s joking or not.
But then he’s pulling on my hand, and we drift up the stairs, all the way to the attic. Past the door is a large room reminiscent of one of those puzzle boxes that open once the right pieces are shifted. The floors, the ceiling with the huge roof window, and all walls are lined with the same wood in many smudged shades of brown.
This place holds even more books than the living room, and several chairs and sofas would make for a perfect reading area, but Corvus’s true kingdom is past a doorway, in yet another space designed for easy cleanup. Bundles of dried plants hang from the wall, and there’s all kinds of jars, organized by type and name. If it wasn’t for the steel tables and modern lab equipment, I would have said the place looks like the lair of a witch.
I suppose, considering Corvus’s profession, it is as close as I can get.
“I know. A love potion,” I wiggle my eyebrows, then hug him because after today’s arguments, I’m eager to be close again.
His chuckle’s raspy, sweet yet has a bit of a bite, like honey with chili powder. Finally, I get my wish and push my nose into his smooth dark hair. The scent he carries already feels like home.
“I don’t think either of us needs one of those,” Corvus tells me and pulls out of my arms as I chew on the implications of what he just said. He gravitates toward an antique cabinet with iron handles and retrieves something from the back of a shelf and presents me with a small rectangular bottle reminiscent of classic ladies’ perfume. The glass is black, and the cap—in a silvery shade. At the front is a label with the word Closer written in Corvus’s neat script. “I was considering saving it for the wedding day, but it would be nice if you already smelled of it at the altar.”
“You… made a perfume for me?” I ask in disbelief, my heart pounding. I sure as fuck want to be closer right now.
Brief moments pass through my head, of Corvus giving me a pick of two scents several times in the past two weeks. Was that… part of his secret project?