And Carmine is standing at the edge of the platform with his tablet tucked under one elbow, clapping slowly with a grin spreading across his usually stern face.
"The audience would go insane for that," he says.
Bells blinks. "For what?"
"The kiss." Carmine uncrosses his arms. "After the unmasking. Bells tears the mask off, reveals the skull, the crowd loses their minds. And then the singer kisses the monster."
Bells flinches at the wordmonsterand opens her mouth to protest.
I meet her eyes and shake my head hard from behind Carmine, out of his sight, swiping the side of my hand across my throat for good measure to hammer it home. Carmine obviously hashis suspicions, but he doesn't know what Rex is really hiding beneath the mask.
Bells is about to leap to the scarred alpha's defense and blow his cover.
Thank the gods she sees me and her mouth closes with a soft growl.
"Gothic romance.Phantom of the Opera," Carmine continues. He's already pacing, tablet out, tapping notes. "It sells the entire narrative. The leaked photos become a teaser. The unmasking becomes the centerpiece. And thekissis the closer. Every show. Every night."
Rex's hand is still open at his side.
The one that was on her face.
I watch his fingers curl in. One at a time, and then his hand slips into his pocket and he just… stands there.
Bells is arguing. I can hear her—something aboutthat wasn't part of the showandnot a fucking freak show—and Carmine is nodding the way people nod when they've already decided and they're just waiting for you to run out of air.
But I'm watching Rex.
He's looking at the stage lights. Not at Bells, not at Carmine. Straight up into the fresnels, which you're not supposed to do, because it hurts and it's fucking terrible for you, which is maybe the point.
He hasn't said no.
Rex argues about everything, but he hasn't said a single fucking word since Carmine opened his mouth.
And I know why.
Because if it's part of the show, she has to kiss him every night.
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZT.
What the fuck?
"Did someone order food?" I ask.
Raf shakes his head, but he doesn't say anything. No one does. A weird silence has fallen over all of us.
Something's not fucking right.
"I'll get it," I sigh, already moving.
When I open the door and look outside, I don't see anything. Just curling fog reflecting the amber streetlights and the security motion lights that come on automatically when the door opens. Maybe they were on before, but there's no way of knowing.
"False alarm," I call back. "Must be a malfunction?—"
Oh.
There's a fucking bouquet on its side on the concrete, the clear cellophane damp with fog.
Roses.