Into the Black Hole

Chapter 38: Not a Negotiation

Sheer panic jolts through my legs, up my spine, spreading into my brain, assaulting all other emotions.

Huxley notices this and immediately clarifies, "Not an engagement ring. A promise ring. It's a symbol of our love and devotion to one another. No other strings attached. No commitment to get married. I just want everyone to know that... you're mine." He quickly adds, "For now."

A ring seems too impractical a gift. Huxley isn't a "symbol" kind of person. Nor is he sappy. And who said anything about marriage? What else did he... oh. "You love me?"

"Yeah." He tilts his head to one side, eyebrows drawing together. "Have I not told you already?"

I'm numb. "No. You haven't."

He takes my face between his hands, forcing me to focus solely on him. The intensity of his gaze, the illogical beauty of his face, the scent of caramel and chestnuts, drown out the noisy room around us. Nothing's alive except him and me. "I love you, Ailee Chambers. I have fallen in love with you."

That's it. I've done it. I've won the heart of a psycho. And while I wish I could say all I feel is disgust, I'd be lying. Because Felix is right, as always. Huxley is a powerful, stunning human being. Yes, he's a criminal, but he's a criminal with one of the highest social statuses in the Solar System. And unfortunately, I'm not above being affected by these facts.

Then reality comes crashing down.

I jerk my head to the side, and his hands fall away, but they're back on my waist. He's unwilling to let me go. "You don't have to say that," I tell him. "In fact, you don't need to do any of this. We don't need to date. You don't need to give me a ring. I'm not working on NeuroQueue anymore, so no incentive is necessary." I pause. "If this is your way of keeping my mouth shut about the project, you don't need to worry, I—"

He quiets me with a paralyzing kiss. When we break apart, he stresses, "I. Love. You."

My voice is small. "Why?"

"I just do," he states. "I can't help it. Is that so hard to accept?" He waits, his gaze searching my face, but I don't reply. "What are you thinking?"

I'm thinking that I don't believe he knows what love is. The words from his lips are sweet, but his actions speak of dominance, ownership, control. "You already know everything about me. You ask about me, and I answer. But I hardly know anything about you. You never answer my questions directly. Instead, you give me a random reply like... throwing a bottle of scotch—"

"That wasn't random. That was true."

"Okay, then it was a stupid reply. Or you divert the question by saying my eyes are pretty. But you never give me an honest response, so how do you expect me to love you in return when I scarcely know who you are?"

His eyes reflect so much hurt, one would think I just stabbed him with a serrated blade. "Ask me something now," he demands. "I'll answer it. Honestly."

I want to question him about NeuroQueue, but I can't. It would give me away. Instead, I query, "Where is your family?"

Instantly, he's uncomfortable. Looking away, he reluctantly replies, "My mother died when I was ten. My father died when I was seventeen. I'm an only child, and I don't keep in touch with other relatives."

"Are you lonely?"

"Sometimes," he admits. "I'm used to it, though. The Titans are my family." He gestures absently to the rest of the room. "They're more than enough to occupy me. And... now I have you."

The corners of my lips twitch from the arrogance in that statement. My next observation is volatile, but I'm determined to get my point across, "Project NeuroQueue will be completed in less than two weeks, and then I'm going home."