Darling Two
Oh, this? This is just a goof.
I mean, it really is. I wrote this scene years ago; it never made it into any draft of my book, but the tension is so much fun that I decided it needed to still be enjoyed. One thing that I’m really enjoying about these Little Darling posts is that they don’t have to be perfect. The writing might be bad? It might be good? Who knows? Let’s roll the dice and see what happens.
She needed to get out of the restaurant. Her eyes searched frantically for an exit. Realization dawned on her: Oliver had chosen the seat closest to the stairs, specifically to prevent her from leaving. This was a trap the entire time, it had been a trap, and she walked right in it. Snared like some goddamn fox.
She moved to get out of her seat, but Oliver’s firm grasp forced her back. “I wouldn’t do that,” he warned.
Gasping breaths started to shake from her throat. Panic rolled over her, itching up her legs and tightening in her chest.
But Oliver’s eyes softened. “Angelica, relax. We’re just going to have a conversation.”
A scoff escaped her lips; she knew better. Even if she was just another doe-eyed conquest a moment ago, she knew what they did to people like her.
“Breathe, Angelica.” Oliver’s voice was low and steady.
She wondered if he did that for her benefit or for his own. This was a public place, after all. She only needed to cry out, and he would have to release her.
But what then?
He had people stationed throughout the city. There wasn’t an inch he didn’t own. No — she had started this game, rolled the dice, and taken a chance on a life that never really belonged to her. And because of it, she needed to see this through. She had never cowered in a corner before tonight. Certainly, she wasn’t going to let some blonde-haired man ruin her streak, no matter how dark his eyes were or how well his suit cut across his muscular shoulders.
“I need you to answer my questions.” He picked up a thick leather folio and waved it. “What is this?”
Her whole world would have been the most accurate description. But if he had even flipped through the first few pages, he would already know everything. She had taken meticulous notes in the margins of the pages; sketched on every page were translations and quotes from every lead and answer she obtained as she bounced from country to country. He knew it all, every phase of her plan, and there was nothing she could say or do to make it go away.
“I’m a Relic hunter.” She blurted out the confession over hundred-dollar appetizers and vintage wine. This evening was a joke. But outside her group, she had never said those words to anyone. And the shame they carried marked her like a beacon in the night. Hatefully, she brushed away the tears that streamed down her face with her free hand.
Oliver released her arm as soon as the words registered as though he were touching a hot plate. She felt his eyes sear through her skin as he searched her whole body for clues or understanding.
“Oh God,” he whispered.
They sat at a stalemate, neither one moving, hardly daring to breathe. Oliver placed his palms flat on the table, bracing himself. She realized he was afraid of her. It wasn’t the first time she had seen fear reflected in another's eyes, but it crushed her to see it in him. Anyone but him.
“What do you want?” Oliver asked.
“I just want to be free,” she choked.
The high collar of the black wool dress she wore pinched around her neck. She would have worn something entirely different if she had known that this is how the evening would go. Instead, like a lovestruck fool, she had changed at least a dozen times, prancing in front of the mirror in her bedroom, wondering how it would feel to have him slowly peel away the long zipper down her back.
She had even bothered with some red lipstick. Normally she didn’t wear such a shade because it contrasted with her auburn hair, but tonight she wanted to do something special, be something special.
The strappy pumps she wore weren’t going to help her here either. She cocked her head she realized that she could probably stab him with her heel, so perhaps that had been a decent fashion choice after all.
She guessed that whatever Oliver was expecting, it wasn’t that.
His usually tan face looked ashen and stricken by her words. “What?” he uttered, dumbstruck.
Tears flowed freely from her eyes. “Do you have any idea what it’s like? I’ve been doing this for so long. Since I was a child. I can’t stomach it anymore.” She closed her eyes tightly. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”
Her hands clenched the crisp white tablecloth. She knew her mascara was running and prayed that the low candlelight would hide the smudges from the other restaurant-goers.
Mercifully, their waitress hadn’t been by to check on them in a whole five minutes. Perhaps the petite thing with the ample bosom had taken a hint from Angelica’s death glare the last time she leaned too close to Oliver to recommend selections from the wine list. Though Angelica assumed she didn’t have the right to play the jealous girlfriend card. Not anymore.
“I justified it because I thought we had a common enemy. I know who killed your brother.”
Oliver opened and closed his mouth a few times before shaking his head as if trying to physically clear his mind. “How do you know that?” His voice was raised, on the verge of hysteria. “What else do you know?”
“I know that you’ve guessed he was stabbed with the Knife of Anissen. I can tell you the reason you guessed that is because I gave you that hint. Oh, and the compendium you found in Brussels is because I tipped off Lucy,” she said.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath. “This is what, a game to you?”
Angelica shot up from her chair, knocking it backward. “This is my life. You’re the ones who have been slow. You’ve only gotten this far because I’ve carried you. What have you been doing? You’ve had that compendium for months and have done nothing with it.”
“Angelica, sit down,” Oliver implored. The restaurant had gone silent. All of the movement around her seemed to stop. Heat flooded her cheeks as she felt every eye in the restaurant focus on her after her outburst.
She fumbled around in the low light next to her seat for her bag. “I need to leave.”
Oliver got up from his seat, blocking her way. “I can’t let you leave yet. I haven’t decided if you’re a threat or not.”
Her eyes turned deadly as one of her hands fingered a pointed blade at the bottom of her purse. “You’re going to want to step aside, Oliver.”