I sense a little forgiveness now, a lightening of the mood. I allow myself a small smile.
“I’ll do my best.”
“Good girl,” Oren says, drawing me into the hug I so desperately crave from him.
I breathe his scent, and just barely withhold the impulse to apologize again.
“So, would, I don’t know, fucking my ass make you feel better?”
He pulls back and stares at me. For a second I think he is about to yell at me, but instead he bursts into laughter.
“My god, girl.”
“Well, I mean,” I smirk. “It seems to put people in a good mood...”
“True,” Oren agrees. “But I’ll have my turn with you another time. I want to be sure you’ve really heard what I said today. What you did... coming here, in some mad attempt to steal the treasury, or take over the whole city barefoot and pregnant—that was madness, Trissa. You can’t afford to be mad anymore. You’re going to be a mother.”
“I understand,” I say, trying not to sigh. He’s right. My plan was madness—and yet, it seems to have worked out. Maybe we don’t make decisions as much as we let decisions make us, and maybe there is a force that makes things right almost as much as it makes them wrong.