Page 83 of The Gambler's Prize
“We could,” I insist. “We can.”
“But we have no money.”
“So? I’d rather build a future with you than start at the top alone.”
His mouth gets all determined. “I can do that. Work my way up. I’ll get a job on a construction site, now you’ve taught me all about digging.”
Stars, he might be getting a little carried away with the independent work ethic.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I say. “I don’t want you breaking your body with work you’re not suited for.”
He pouts. “Not suited for? I thought I was getting pretty good at digging.”
“You were. You are. But we both know you hate it.”
“But—”
“The answer is no.” I put some authority into my voice. “I won’t let you take a job you hate to realize my dream. End of discussion.”
He bites his lip, looking up at me. “When I told you I wanted you to be more dominant, I may have unleashed a monster.”
“Yes, you did,” I say, deadpan.
“So what will we do for money?”
“We’ll figure something out. As long as we’re together.”
As long as we’re together I don’t much care what we do. Lazing around in bed together sounds good, or getting up at dawn to watch the sun rise. I’ll watch the changing light play with the color of his hair. That ought to entertain me for a good few years.
“You know about my dream,” I say. “We’ll get there one day, I have no doubt. Now, what aboutyourdreams?”
He thinks for a moment. “I never really had any. None that had any chance of coming true, anyway. I’m not good enough at anything.” He looks up at me shyly. “I used to want to be an actor, but that’s stupid. My father put a stop to it anyway.”
I’m really starting to hate this father of his. It’s better for the man’s health, and my own criminal record, that the two of us never meet. It’s a tragedy for such an intelligent and curious man as Florian to have been made to feel so purposeless.
“It’s not stupid,” I say. “You’d be a wonderful actor. And you’re an amazing cook, too.”
Florian wrinkles his nose. “Not good enough to be professional.”
“I disagree.”
“You’re biased.”
“Well, I know Breta and her family would agree with me. They aren’t biased by your tight little ass… except for maybe Prevana.” I squeeze his ass, drawing a yelp.
“Maybe.”
He still sounds unsure. It breaks my heart that he has so little confidence. I was a fool not to see this side of him before. I thought he was as conceited as he first appeared, just the usual spoiled and arrogant aristocrat. I was blinded by my anger and prejudice. I should’ve been able to see that the casual confidence was his shield. Not his real face.
“We’ll have to get you a dream,” I say.
He smiles at me. “Yes, Boss.”
“And then I’ll help you make it come true, and you’ll help me make mine come true.”
“Yes, Boss.”
His voice softens to a whisper and his lips claim mine.
