Page 43

Story: Princes of Legacy

“Good grief.” I sigh. “I should have known.”

He gives me that wide-eyed, innocent look he thinks he’s good at. “What?”

“That’swhy you volunteered to come today. For my mother’s pudding.” Truth be told, I woke up this morning and found myself a little excited for his arrival. Lex hasn’t been chilly—notnecessarily—but I understand what Lavinia was saying before about him being a machine. He goes through the motions, but I’ve missed that spark of heat in his eyes. The way he touched me our first night here, desperate and determined.

Deadpan, he replies, “No, I totally came for community solidarity.”

Honestly, I thought it was for the possible blowjob. “I don’t know what she’s got in there, Wick, but you can go ask.”

He grimaces, stuffing his fists into his pockets. “Yeah, um, I thought maybe you could do that for me.”

“I’m a little busy doing the actual community solidarity thing.” I open up one of the boxes on the floor and pull out a stack of the white shirts every donor receives, setting it on the table. “What’s the big deal? The worst thing she can say is no.” He shifts on his heels. “What?”

“Look, your mom is fucking scary. She’s got this vibe like…”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Like what?”

He gives the door to the kitchen another fleeting look. “Like she wants to claw my eyes out and de-ball me. Kinda like you for the first three months you lived at the palace.”

“You’re not wrong,” I admit, a shadow cast over my thoughts. “Youarethe man who took my virginity. Brutally, I may add.”

Wicker does this thing where his expression sort of just…snapsinto blankness. There’s a quick blink, and then his spine straightens. It’s like he’s getting ready for an attack, shoulders squaring, features hardening. “It’s not like I wanted?—”

I hold up a hand, struggling to tamp down this new, yet so familiar burn in the back of my throat. “There’s no time for this right now, but if you get through the day without starting any kind of trouble, I’ll ask her about it.”

I’d blame Lavinia for putting the question in my head, but it wouldn’t be fair. Maybe it’s always been there, this gut-deep sense of dread that Wicker and I have created something out ofhatred and hurt. That I’m going to look into our son’s eyes one day and see something horrible and tainted reflected back at me.

“Turn her around. I should have never fucked this bitch face-to-face.”

“Yeah?” He grins, yanking me out of the memory of the cleansing. It’s the only reason I recoil when he reaches out, fingering a lock of my hair. “Is that BJ still on the table?”

I ignore the flash of surprise in his eyes at my flinch. “Don’t push it.”

“I haven’t,” he says, brow knitting up in confusion. “In fact, I’ve been really fucking good about not pushing it, so what’s your problem?”

“Nothing. I just—” I push a fist into my lower back, stretching an aching kink at the base of my spine. “I’m just tired. Forget it.”

Although he gives me a long look, he seems happy to let it go and walk away. I return to my task, needing something to busy myself with.

“Now that one,” Lav says, tossing a shirt in the medium pile, “the way he looks at you?”

“What about it?”

“I’ve seen that before too.” She turns to watch Wicker approach Lex in the middle of the room. “He’s not ready yet, but when he finally is…”

She trails off, but honestly, I’m dying to know. “What? What happens?”

“It’s going to feel like falling off a cliff.”

7

Lex

By the timewe get back to West End’s tetanus factory masquerading as living quarters, my neck is fucking killing me. Nine hours of staring down at veins isn’t the most ergonomic way to spend my day. Frustratingly, there’s also a nagging presence in the back of my brain reminding me of the Scratch dealer we passed on the way here, and the more the day drags on, the less I’m inclined to ignore the tickle in the back of my throat.

When I shove the key into the loft’s door, prying it open with a bump from my shoulder, my body feels heavy, like weights have been tied to my limbs.

Still, I help Verity inside first, hefting my bag with one arm as the other presses a hand to the small of her back. Over time, she’s gotten more inclined to accepting these small, proprietary gestures, which is good, seeing as how it’s getting more and more difficult to be around her without touching some part of her.

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