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The thought shouldn’t send acid sizzling through her veins. After all, it's not as though she was unaware of his situation. As though she didn't know that in the eyes of the world, he belongs just as much to someone else as the citizens of District Twelve think she does. That their reunion interrupted preparations for not just her vows, but his.
No matter what lies between them, it’s not as though he will ever truly be hers.
In the drivers' seat, Adrin makes another turn, eyes attentively focused on the road and expression blank. He never gives any signs that he can hear them at all.
It's been a week since she met Livia at the cafe. Three days since Coryo reappeared at her apartment, wearing a coat the color of the blood that should have coated hands that were clean and unblemished, and held her through the night.
And now he wants her to sing at his wedding.
She should keep her mouth shut. Nod and smile and just let it lie.
But that isn't who she is, what they are.
“Lemme give you some wedding advice, darlin’?” she says it coolly, reaching over to pluck one of the candies from the bowl between their seats. "The first piece would be to find a bride who’s less of a raging bitch.” She refuses to look at him as she says it, unwrapping the candy with careful fingers and popping it into her mouth. The bittersweet taste of lime suffuses her mouth as he makes a huffing sound that could be laughter, but there is no amusement in his voice when he speaks; his response is crisp and cool as ever.
“I would rather you didn't,” he retorts, “but that’s fair, considering I would’ve given you similar advice. But I would have asked why you would choose to marry a driveling sycophant.”
She’s never heard him sound so….dismissive.
“Leod was good to me.” it’s out of her mouth before she can stop to think “He protected me.”
He stiffens beside her, his whole body going taut in the seat as he turns to look at her.
“I protect you.”
She gives him a derisive snort, caution thrown to the winds, and finally turns to glare at him.
A part of her has been afraid of him, angry at him, for fifteen years, no matter how much she loves him.
She doesn't want to be afraid, be angry, anymore.
“Sure ya do, darlin. Right up until you try to kill me.”
Gunshots.
Color floods his face, riding high on his cheekbones, and his eyes are pools of raging blue fire, and she should be terrified.
She finds in this moment she has no room left to fear him.
“I never wanted you dead.” he growls, jaw tight, and she laughs bitterly. Spits the candy out onto the floor.
“You did. You wanted me dead and forgotten. I’m more a liability than an asset to you and your campaign. Something you have to work so hard to take care of. So why don’t you just kill me right now, hm? Why don’t you just get it over and done with so you can get on with your perfect life and your perfect plans?” she leans across the console, invading his space. “Why not save yourself some trouble?”
He moves so fast she almost doesn’t catch it, but she doesn’t need to. His hand wraps around her throat, his skin icy cold and burning, and he leans in, his face mere inches from her own.
“If I wanted you dead, Lucy Gray, you would be.”
She laughs. Feels his palm flex against her throat.
“Would I? Then why am I not?”
For a moment, they just stare at each other, ice blue into fumed oak. Then something in his face loosens, and his grip shifts, just a little, suddenly tugging her closer instead of threatening her air. His forehead rests against hers with the softness of newfallen snow, and something settles into her chest with the resounding rightness of a perfect harmony.
"You've been in my blood from the first time I heard you sing." he whispers, and his voice is a little hoarse. "I spent fifteen years thinking I'd killed you. That I destroyed the only other person I've ever given a single fuck about." He swallows, and then his eyes are blazing. "And I would much rather put up with the trouble of keeping you, Lucy Gray, than ever see your ghost again."
He's out of the car before she can respond, leaving her with nothing but the feel of his hand on her throat, the echo of his voice in her ears, and a new, confident sureness that seeps into her like the heady warmth of wine.
