Page 46 of Little Fury

But this. This feels different.

Marcus’s eyes meet mine in the mirror, his piercing green eyes framed with dark lashes. His blonde hair is even lighter from the sun, and his tan makes his eyes more striking. He’s wearing a white short-sleeved light-knit V-neck with a soft collar and navy shorts that perfectly hug his thighs. Marcus has grown into a beautiful man just as I knew he would. But now he has an air about him that’s darker than when he was younger, and power radiates from him.

He holds my gaze in the mirror, I see his jaw clench. His fingers dig into me harder, hard enough that I shudder at the thought of him leaving his marks on me. That thought snaps me out of it.

“Shit, we should go. Let me throw on my dress and shoes.”

He clears his throat, still looking at me in the mirror.“Yeah, I’m starving, let's go.” We look at each other for another moment, and I see the hunger there, and I’mpositive it’s not for food. Marcus leaves the bathroom, and I close the door to get my dress from behind it. I slip the silk over my head and shiver at its cool touch on my warm skin.

It’s a deep emerald green that falls to just above my knee with a slit up one side. I’m happy that Marcus removed my stitches a couple days ago. The neckline sits straight across my collarbone, with the thinnest straps crisscrossing in the back around my shoulder blades. The rest of the back is bare.

I open the bathroom door and see Marcus with my shoes hanging off his finger. He looks me up and down, saying nothing. I turn to grab my handbag off the dresser, giving him a view of the back of the dress.“Fuuuck.” I hear him mutter low. A small smile crosses my lips, I smother it quickly.

I grab my gold cuffs, place them on my wrists, take my shoes from Marcus, and hold onto his shoulder as I try to put them on. They’re black with a thin strap across the toes, a 3-inch heel and an ankle strap that is not cooperating.“Jesus,”he says, dropping to his knee to do up my shoe, his fingers grazing the inside of my ankle. He takes the other shoe from me.“Keep your hands on my shoulders, Ava.” His voice is low and rough, sending a flare of heat straight to my core.

He lifts my other foot and places the shoe on it, running a finger under my arch. He does up the buckle and runs his fingers up my calf. His touch is feather soft, sending another rush of heat through my body.

Seeing him on his knees before me is intoxicating. Him looking up at me from his knees in front of me.

Well, that’s… um.

“Ready?”He asks, still kneeling in front of me.

“Uh, yeah, yes.” I stumble over my words. He gets to his feet, hands me my purse and gives me a lazy smile.

“Let’s go.” He takes my hand, entwining our fingers, pulling me out of my bedroom.

Once outside, he opens the car door for me, waiting until I’m in before going to the driver’s side. As we head to the restaurant, Lana Del Rey’s“Video Games”plays over the speakers, filling the silence in the car. We pull up to the restaurant, and the valet opens my door. Marcus takes my hand, handing the valet the keys and a $50 bill.

The restaurant is on the beach and divided into different areas. There’s a dining area situated at the top of the beach, and the open-air bar area with its dance floor and stage are down close to the water.

We’re seated immediately, and Marcus orders a bottle of 2017 Chateau Montelena Estate Cabernet. The waiter returns with the wine and offers it to Marcus first, ensuring he approves of it. Marcus nods, and the waiter moves to fill my glass before going back to fill Marcus’s. We sit quietly for a bit, enjoying the wine.

“Any idea what you want to have?”I ask Marcus as I look over the menu.

“I think I want the steak. You?”

“The same,”I say with a grin.

“Not sure why I asked. No burger on the menu, I should have known steak.”

“You know me so well, do you?”

He looks at me over the rim of his wine glass as he takes a sip.“I’m sure I could know you better.” I feel my cheeks flame. I take a sip of my wine and notice a drop running down the side of my glass. I collect it on my fingertip and bring it to my mouth, placing my finger on my lips. I lick the drop off. He’s watching me; his green eyes darken and his hand squeezes into a fist on the table. He starts to say something, but the waiter interrupts him.

“We will both have the steak medium-rare; I’ll have theoven-roasted potatoes, and she'll have the 12-hour crispy potatoes.”

“Thank you, sir,”the waiter says as he moves away to put our order in. My phone buzzes in my purse, and I retrieve it to see who it is. It's Beth asking how we’re doing. She tells me that Harry is still mopey since we left, and that Parker and Wes won't spar with him until he lightens up. I read the text to Marcus, and we both chuckle at the thought of Harry beating them up because he's in a bad mood. The laughter lightens our mood, and we sink into a normal rhythm—a familiar cadence to our conversation.

Our food arrives, and we dig in.

The conversation flows easily, all the earlier tension seeming to have dissipated. We discuss a couple of books we’ve read and what movie we want to watch later. My vote is for“Blade Runner 2049”. Marcus hates science fiction. It's one of the few things we disagree on. Marcus usually gives in when it comes to the movies we watch or the music we listen to. I’m grateful he does because I’m unyielding in those areas. I am fully aware it's a crappy personality trait of mine, but it’s one I have no desire to change.

I’ve been taught and trained to be yielding and accommodating to the situations and people my work puts in front of me. If a client wants a death to look like a suicide, or I need to get close enough to drug someone, I have to be whatever they want me to be. I have to emulate whatever fantasy or impression of me gets me close to them.

My body is both a tool and a weapon. My face, my voice, my slight stature- all of it has been carefully crafted and meticulously trained to be pliable and compliant. It makes none of it mine; none of it is me. But what I watch and listen to when I’m supposed to be at home relaxing? When I’m supposed to be the real Ava? Those are mine. Those are me.And I won't give them to anyone for anything. I will unapologetically keep that part of me for myself.

“Do you want dessert?"Marcus asks me.

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