I watch the muscles of his back work beneath the ink of yet another skull as he walks ahead of me not hiding himself from me anymore.
“Why skulls?” I ask. It’s as if he’s tattooed death on every inch of himself.
He raises his eyebrows as he opens a dresser drawer to retrieve a pair of briefs and trousers and gets dressed.
“On your body. Your face,” I say.
“Our family crest.”
“That’s not it.”
“And you know this how?” He pulls on a sweater, cashmere stretching tight over muscular shoulders and arms.
“I see you, Santiago. I think I’ve always seen you.”
He grins, walks toward me to take the towel and tug it tighter around me, jerking me toward him. “Have you?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me what you see.”
I bite my lip, glance away, my gaze catching on the tattoo gun he threw to the floor. That gives me courage. A little at least. I shift my gaze up to his.
“You can’t stand to look at yourself. I don’t think it’s because you think you’re ugly. I don’t think you care about ugly or beautiful. That’s too simple for you. I think you see it as a weakness. I think you’re afraid when people see the scars, see what you’ve done to hide them, they’ll know you’re human. Breakable. Like the rest of us.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and a muscle ticks in his jaw. “I didn’t realize you were studying the human psyche at school.” He secures the towel at my chest and turns away to pick up the slacks he’d been wearing. He feels through his pockets and takes out his phone.
“That’s not all.”
“No?” he asks, using his thumb to unlock it.
“No.” I take a step toward him feeling braver. I put my hand on his arm and push the phone away so he looks at me.
“I’m all ears,” he says with an expression that says he’s humoring me, but I know he’s not. I’m right and he knows it and he doesn’t like it.
“I think you don’t have a mirror in your bathroom or anywhere that I’ve seen in the house outside of maybe the bedrooms you don’t use because when you see yourself, you see that weakness and you can’t stand it.”
He smiles tightly. “You’re clever but not as clever as you think,” he says, tucking wet hair behind my ear, turning my head a little to study the stencil side.
I wonder if it’s washed away at least a little. I am curious to see it for some strange reason I can’t quite explain.
He meets my eyes. “I did this so I would remember.”
I remain silent waiting for more.
“I did it so I would never forget all the lives that were lost, half of my own family wiped out in a matter of moments. I did it so I would always remember that when I walked away, I became indebted to them. I did it so I never forget that I owe them. That vengeance is due them.” His fingers tighten. “And mine will be the hand that deals that vengeance.”
I swallow, feel my shoulders cave a little at that because what I felt just moments ago, what we had when he made love to me—and it was love making—it’s gone. And I’m the one who reminded him of his hate.
“Go to your room, Ivy.”
The phone in his hand buzzes. He shifts his gaze to it but doesn’t pick up.
“You lied for me,” I say, realizing that the only way The Tribunal would think I was pregnant would be if he told them I was. “Why?”
His cheeks hollow out as he draws in a deep breath. “What you did is a crime punishable by death in the eyes of The Society.”
My knees waver, goose bumps rising along my flesh.
“There is the law and there is our law.”
“The Society’s law.”
He nods. “I was offered three choices for your sentence.”
My heartbeat accelerates.
“Death by poison. Fitting.”
“Santia—”
“Death by hanging.”
He catches my arms when my knees give out and walks me backward to sit me in the chair he’d sat in the night I’d slept in his bed.
“And a loyalty test which I’m not sure you would survive.”
“What is that?”
“The Tribunal has fairly archaic methods when it comes to punishing those who betray us. You probably know this.”
I shake my head but remember that scaffold in the small courtyard hidden by the towering walls of The Tribunal’s building.
“Torture. Something medieval. While I bear witness.”
“But...You can’t let them—” the words are barely audible, my palms sweaty, fingernails digging into the leather of the chair I cling to in order to control the trembling.
“The benefit of this final method is threefold when you think about it. It will ensure you provide the name of the person or persons who supplied you with the poison as well as confirm your loyalty—”
“By torturing me.”
“And it will test me as well. My loyalty to The Society as I stand by and watch my wife punished.”
“But…”
“Not that they’d forego the methods necessary to draw a name from your lips if I were to choose either of the other options.”
My face must go very pale. I feel the blood drain and watch him watch me.
“But, as you know, I have standing within The Society.” He gives a dark smile and brushes his knuckles over the stenciled side of my face. “Since your crime was against me, as your husband, I offered an alternative.”
“The tattoo.”
He nods. His phone buzzes again and he silences it. “Considering the fact that you are carrying my heir—”
“But I’m not…”
“I know that.”
“You lied to save my life.”
His eyes narrow again. He takes a moment to answer. “For selfish reasons, Ivy. Do not be fooled.”
“What if I can’t get pregnant?”
“Can’t?” He cocks his head to the side. “Is there something I should know?”
I shake my head quickly. Too quickly. And as I rise to my feet, for the first time in my
