Nothing left for Bells, Phoenix, and Raf.
Wait… why the fuck did I think aboutBells?
She doesn't even want to be here. She hates me. Hates all of this. She's only pretending to like her simple rabbit mask to get under my skin even though I deliberately wanted to poke at her being a cardboard cutout. Iknowshe is.
She—
"Fine."
It sounds like the word came from someone else. But it didn't. It came from me.
Carmine's eyebrows lift. "Fine?"
"I saidfine," I grit out. "Do whatever you need to do. Stage the fucking unmasking. Turn my horrible fucking face into a marketing strategy. I don't care."
I do care. I care so much it's eating me alive. But I can't let this fall apart. Can't let everything we built disappear because I'm too fucking broken to face the music.
Carmine nods once. "Good. I'll have the staging team start working on designs for the masks. Rex, you'll need to be present for fittings to make sure it sits properly over your actual face."
I don't respond. Don't trust myself to speak.
"No," Bells says in a tone that doesn't leave any room for argument. Carmine raises his eyebrows even more at her, opening his mouth, but she isn't done. "We already have a maskmaker. Jamie is the only one who can pull this off without it looking like a cheap shitty trick."
"We'll talk more about the specifics later," Carmine says with a tired sigh, but I can tell Bells won. He stands, tucking his tablet under his arm. "For now, go home. Get some rest. And maybe—" His gaze drops to the fuzzy handcuffs still connecting my wrist to Bells's. "—sort out whatever the fuck's happening between you all."
He leaves without waiting for a response. The studio door swings shut behind him with a soft whoosh.
Nobody moves.
"Well," Rafael finally says. "That was..."
He doesn't finish. Can't seem to find a word that fits.
Phoenix hauls himself up from the armchair. His face is pale, his jaw tight. "Let's just go home."
We file out of the studio. Phoenix first, then Rafael, then Bells pulling me after her like a pet zombie because I can't seem to make my legs work independently. The chain shifts. Metal slides against metal.
And somehow, in the space between steps, her hand brushes mine.
I should yank my hand away.
I don't.
CHAPTER 17
RAFAEL
The penthouse door barely clicks shut behind us before Phoenix is shrugging on his jacket again.
"Walk?" he asks.
I glance down the hall toward where Bells just disappeared with Rex still chained to her wrist with fuzzy cuffs. Rex's shoulders were hunched, his head down, and Bells was steering him toward the room they shared last night like a tugboat guiding a freighter into port.
They need space. That much is obvious. Whatever's happening between those two—and it'sdefinitelyhappening, no matter how much Rex snarls about it—doesn't need an audience.
Especially when they're apparently going to our mask maker tomorrow to work on the bullshit stunt, and going to the mask maker puts Rex in a shit mood even on the best of days.
"Yeah," I sigh. "Walk."