Page 23 of The Good Girl

“Fine.” We were all aware that we were just pawns in the game of power in Silvercrest, but Elena was weirdly self-aware and yet still in denial. How was that even possible? Was she just blinded by her father and his vice-like grip around her throat, silencing her? Squashing her back into her box, with a buckled back, under the weight of his expectations? I needed to get past the walls she was building as she gave in to him. I change tact, just like she requested. “What was your mother talking about earlier?”

She squirms as she shifts her position a little, and her dress moves higher up her thighs, exposing more creamy, toned flesh. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Leaning forward, I don’t miss the way her breathing changes. “Yes, you do.”

She could lash out and snap at me, but she was very much aware of me, just like I was her. We were friends before we were enemies, and now we were circling each other, waiting for the other to strike. “If you won’t tell me, I can ask your father and see if he knows.”

She smells like cherry and chocolate as it lingers on her breath. Her top lip twitches. “You fight dirty.”

I chuckle, the movement bringing me closer to her again. “Nothing wrong with getting a little filthy. You should try it sometime.”

My hand is dangerously close to her thigh as I cage her in, a hand on either side of her legs. She shrugs. “It’s no big deal, I went shopping with Tabitha and Attie…”

“Yeah, to Greenville.” Okay, but how did a trip to the bookstore end up being something she needed to hide from her father? Maybe she liked to read those smutty books Blythe was always making fun of? Maybe she needed someone to practice what she’d read, and if she did, I’d happily volunteer as tribute.

She inhales, and on the exhale rushes the words, “And we got matching tattoos.”

It takes my brain a moment to process. Elena. Tattoos. Ink on her body. Lena. My Lena. Permanent. “What?”

Looking down, she twists the fork in her hand, mushing the gateaux beneath the prongs. Cherry kirsch oozes from the sponge, dirtying the silverware. “It’s just a birdcage…”

“Where?” My eyes rake over her legs, the exposed skin of her shoulders and collarbone but I can’t see any inking.

“Tabitha’s is on her arm and Attie got hers on her shoulder,” she explains as I take her wrist in my hand and push the sleeve of her dress up, checking her arms. Beautifully blank, like a canvas begging to be marked.

“Lena…where is it?” My breath dances across her skin and I’m amazed that she hasn’t pushed me away yet. In the firelight she’s soft, and relaxed. Her blonde hair catches, glimmering in the gentle glow, and her face seems peaceful as her walls begin to fall.

Tilting back, she rests her head on the wall. “I’m not going to tell you, Tristan.”

I inch a little closer. If I pushed forward just a fraction more, I could kiss that upturned mouth of hers. Whispering, so I don’t startle her, I say, “Show me then.”

Her eyes flutter shut with a small smile. “You wish.”

She’s almost at ease with me, so much so she might actually drift off, which is fine by me. I want her trust, I want her to feel safe with me. Softly, I murmur, “Yep.”

“Why?” she asks, not opening her eyes. I take the plate and fork from her hands and place them beside me on the window seat, creating some space between us.

I know she can feel it, my warmth withdrawing, because she shivers a little as I lean back against the window jamb and mimic her pose. “Because you only live once, and I might die tomorrow. So, you should show some pity and strip.”

Tittering, she cracks her eyes open and watches me carefully. “You’re a pervert, you know that?”

“Only for you, Lena.” I wink, resting my hand on her thigh lightly, aware that if I make the wrong move she’ll bolt like a wild creature.

Hissing, she pushes back off the wall, leaning towards me. “Lies.”

“Never.” I wasn’t going to risk the progress I was making. Keeping my eyes locked with her, I refuse to back down. “I wouldn’t lie, not to you.”

Her head moves to the side, calculating as if she’s trying to untangle some great secret. She doesn’t trust anything I say, and I have never wanted anyone to trust me more. “Because I’m your fiancée?”

I smirk, knowing she’ll never believe my answer so I might as well tell the truth. “Because you’re you.”

She clasps a hand over her chest, with a laugh. “Ahhhh, sweet words from the mouth of a trouble-maker. Be still my beating heart.”

“I have plenty more sweet words, if you’d just let me closer to murmur them in your ear…or against your neck, or your lips.” I sit forward too, our noses almost touching, and I can see the wheels turning inside that head of hers.

Reaching up, her fingers drift over my jaw. “Radcliffe…your silence is my favorite sound.”

As I go to open my mouth, and fire back a quick retort about her moans being mine, her fingers grip my face firmly and she shoves me backwards, removing my hand from her leg in the process. “You’re in my bubble, and I don’t like it.”

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