Page 6 of Sapphires and Snakes

Tamayo pauses at the foot of the stairs and looks to the second floor with her bottom lip between her teeth. “Zarina?—”

I flinch. It’s not Tamayo saying my name, it’s Mother, it’s Father, it’s Marcus Accardi with his hands so tight around my neck that blood struggled to reach my brain. “Don’t use my real name. Not tonight.”

She offers me a reassuring smile. “Noted. Princess—I don’t think I can leave you alone in your room tonight.”

“I’ll be fine.” Except that’s a lie. I will absolutely not be fine, unless Pat comes back and climbs into bed with me. I think I might have a panic attack if I’m alone right now.

“I know you will.” Tamayo lets me have my paper-thin lie. “But I won’t.”

“What?”

She dips her head down to meet my gaze, her brown eyes warm as sun-soaked bark during golden hour. “I’ll spend my night worrying and not sleeping if you’re not with me.”

“Oh.” I swallow hard. “If it’ll help, I’ll stay with you.”

“Thank you, princess.” She presses a soft kiss to my temple, so gentle in comparison to everyone else this evening that the contrast topples a few more bricks from the dam.

“Anything to help,” I say. And I don’t look at it too hard, don’t think too critically about the fact Tamayo gave me exactly what I needed without pushing me to ask. I simply accept it.

We climb the stairs, her arm around my waist, catching me as I stumble over my heels.

“I need to shower, first,” I mutter.

“Use mine.”

I blink as more bricks fall. The dam is almost gone now, mere moments from breaking. I try to make light. “Can’t be away from me for one minute, huh?”

She squeezes my waist gently. “No.”

Same, I think. But I don’t say it. We pass my bedroom door and head for the double doors at the end of the hall. Tamayo pushes them open and steps inside, at ease in her own space. I stand in the doorway, arms around myself, unsure how to enter her bedroom, the most intimate room in one’s life.

It’s warmer than I expected. With the cold black-and-white themes throughout the kitchen and dining room, I thought maybe that was Tamayo’s aesthetic. But her room is full of soft textured blankets, deep crimson bedding, cozy nooks to curl up in. Books sit in piles around the room—one stack by the wingback chair in the window alcove, another beside the bed, another on the low dresser.

“The bathroom’s through here.” Tamayo stands in the doorway to the en suite, watching me where I hover on the threshold. Do I enter? Exit? I could let my dam break in my own room, alone, in the shower. Let the water wash away every traitorous, cruel touch. My mother’s claws pinning me to the trap. Marcus’s hands threatening a lifetime of terror.

Tamayo glides over, her feet already out of her boots, and grabs hold of one side of the double doors. She swings it closed then grabs the other side to do the same. Slowly. As if allowing me the option to leave if I really want to, like I was considering.

But I stay.

I stay and follow Tamayo to the bathroom. And it feels better to be here with her rather than in my bedroom alone. Which is dangerous. Tamayo isn’t my friend. She isn’t my ally. Not really. Not with this fake engagement ring weighing down my finger and subsequently any trust we have.

She rambles as we walk into the en suite. “Hot’s on the left, cold on the right. Towels are in the warmer here, and I’ll set out something for pajamas?—”

I stop her before she can leave, turning and pulling my hair over my shoulder. “Unbutton me?”

In the mirror, I watch her study me until she answers. “Sure.”

“Thanks,” I whisper.

But Tamayo hovers behind me, not unbuttoning anything, just staring. I let her. I slip off my engagement ring, hoping that relieving myself of its weight will relieve my conscience of the knowledge of this teetering edge I’m dancing on with the woman at my back. I am a wreck, crushed by the people who should love me the most and the man they want to sell me to. And every time that reality hits too hard, I keep turning to Tamayo for help.

My parents arrange my marriage to Marcus Accardi; I strike a deal with Tamayo. I remove my tiara next. Marcus assaults me in Saint Christophers; I fuck Tamayo in the back of her car. I take off my earrings. Marcus attempts to kidnap and forcibly marry me; I find safe harbor in Tamayo.

And I shouldn’t.

She’s not my savior. In fact, she’s barely my business partner. Yet I can’t stop turning back to her, like a tide pulled to shore over and over again. Her fingertips brush my back, light assatin, as she finally begins to unbutton my corset. Without my permission, a much more welcome, much less terrified shiver ripples over my spine.

“Are you hurt?” she asks, voice soft in the warm room.