Page 60 of The Oath We Give

“Not surprised, just curious.”

When he finishes, he turns his back toward me, cleaning up.

The muscles in his back flex beneath his shirt as he reaches for a coffee mug. I quickly divert my eyes, rotating my body back toward the island, elbows leaning on it for support.

“Stephen used to…” I pause, the realization that he’s one of the only people I’ve willingly spoken to about what happened to me weights on me. The thought of being vulnerable makes me sick, but there’s something safe about him.

“He used to make me eat raw steak. Now the smell makes me sick.”

I hear him moving behind me before he reappears on the opposite side of the island, sitting the dark gray mug in front of him.

“Do you want him dead?” he asks. “Is that why you wanted to talk?” He picks up a spoon, dipping it into a jar of honey before swirling it into the cup. Methodical, like he does it every day.

“No. I meant what I said. I don’t want revenge, Silas.”

“Then why are you here, Coraline?”

A gentle silence washes over us as he continues to stir honey into his coffee, and I stare at him. Our eyes meet, and we just look at one another.

What are you thinking, Silas?

What do you see when you look at me like that?

Does he secretly see just how vile I am on the inside? Can he see my ugly, selfish parts that come out the moment I’m angry or afraid? Or does he simply see nothing? Another girl, another face in the crowd.

He is a stoic statue, meant to be admired but never truly understood. Silas embodies the idea that a person’s presence can speak volumes without a single word needed.

“I came to ask if you still need someone to play fake girlfriend.”

It’s blunt, rushed, unashamed. It’s the only way I was going to get to the point without backing out. Ripped off quickly like an old Band-Aid, it was the reason I wanted to talk to him.

“No.” He swirls the spoon in a circle, gazing down and then back up at me, but the look in his eyes is different now Crinkled at the corners, they glint with a playfulness I’ve never seen on him.

It’s a smirk, without actually moving his lips.

“I need a wife.”

If I die from cardiac arrest, the cause of death is either the way he’s looking at me or the way he says wife. Maybe a combination of both, but hopefully, Lilac will be able to still collect insurance.

Wife.

Do not panic. Do not fucking panic.

This is the reason I came here tonight. The reason I’m going to sleep on his couch, why I’m in his fucking apartment.

“If I do this—ifwedo this—I need you to make me a promise.”

Silas doesn’t speak, just waits for me to continue, giving me space to talk. It’s different, refreshing, to talk to someone who is truly listening, not just waiting to reply.

“No matter what happens, you get Lilac out of here.” I make sure my eyes do not waver. The hues of our irises clash, a gaze of ebony and mocha, neither yielding.

“You can use me to get close to Stephen. Marrying me will piss him off. It’ll lure him out. I’ll hang off your arm and play the part for Hawthorne Tech. But if something happens to me in the process, you have to make sure my sister is taken care of. It’s the only way I’ll say yes.”

Protecting her had been the only thought in my brain when she crashed into my arms. I’m not enough on my own to keep her safe, especially not from a man like Stephen Sinclair.

But four founding families could.

I may be too prideful to ask others for help sometimes, but for Lilac?