Hundreds (Dollar 3)

“And what is that?” Elder’s voice was deceptively low and provocative.

“We’re worth the weight of what we leave behind. The people we’ve touched. The lives we’ve shared. The knowledge we’ve gathered and traded. Physically, we’re worth the dust our corpses turn into, but spiritually, we’re rich forever.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “That’s all very pretty, Pim, but you haven’t answered my question.” He licked his lips. “Pick one. Pick a worth and tell me a figure.”

I forced myself to look at Elder.

Truly look.

See past the exotic handsomeness, the brutal boyishness, the man I’d come to know and only see a roughish businessman in a fancy restaurant wearing an immaculate suit.

“You’re rich.”

He nodded. “How rich?”

“Millions?”

“Go on.”

“Wealthy enough to travel the world on the biggest yacht I’ve ever seen and proctor deals with men like Alrik.”

He tensed. “And do you believe my mother when she said I stole it?” His shoulders tightened, his body language shutting down as if hoping I had no clue. He’d asked a question he didn’t want an answer to.

At least, he didn’t have to worry. I wouldn’t believe one person over another until evidence stated otherwise. “You’re a musical genius with a talent at perfecting anything you do. Money would’ve come to you, regardless if you stole it or not.”

“You think far too highly of me.” He laughed, his face falling into polite indifference as the waiter arrived to deposit salted caramel tarts for dessert.

We didn’t touch them, too absorbed in this complicated conversation.

Staring at the sugary treat, I whispered, “Will you tell me? How you became this way? How you created this empire?”

Picking up his fork, Elder used the dessert as a delaying tactic. Placing a sweet, sinful bite into his mouth, he chewed slowly. “That is a tale for another time, Pim.”

“But you will tell me?”

He looked away. “Not tonight.”

I copied him and took a bite of caramel.

Another bite later, Elder asked, “Do you think I deserve it?”

His questions made my brain ache and fear clutch my insides for getting it wrong. When he’d said he wanted to ask questions, I’d expected them to be about me, not him. I’d prepared to be evasive and noncommittal, not have to search past his barricades and rip out things he never wanted me to see.

I answered his question with another. “Does anyone deserve more than they can spend in a lifetime?”

He smiled coldly. “Good response.” His eyes clouded with things I couldn’t understand. “The right answer is no, I don’t deserve it. My mother was right. I did steal it. None of this is real.”

“I don’t believe that. This is real. You’re real. What I feel for you is real.” I gasped, whipping my fingers to press against my lips.

Whoops.

He froze, locked like an ancient statue in his chair. He sucked in a heavy breath, his eyes inspecting me for an eternity. “How can you be sure of something when you don’t know a thing about me? When the only things you know are I’m a murderer, a criminal, with no family or background?” His temper etched his face, sliding into his shoulders and hands. “How can you look at me the way you do?”

“What way?”

“The way you’re doing right now. As if you trust me to keep you safe all while I’m dying over here not to fuck you on this table.”

His admission shut us both up.

Silence crackled.

Ignoring the tart, I picked up my crane again, desperately needing to fidget from the whipping intensity he’d caused. “I know I seem naïve to you, but I can’t help what I feel. It’s been so many years since I’ve felt anything. Even before I was taken, I just existed in my previous life rather than living.”

I shut up again.

I hadn’t shared a single thing about me yet. I didn’t know if I started now if I’d be able to stop.

But Elder didn’t let me close the door I’d just opened. “How do you mean?”

I stared at the table-cloth. Writing to No One and telling an imaginary pen friend how upset I was with my mother was different than saying it out loud. Writing it down didn’t feel as much as a betrayal. I didn’t want to admit that to this day, I still loathed her for her strictness and lack of love. That I worried about her. That I hated her. Loved her. Missed her. Cursed her.

The familiar itch to grab a pen and scribble consumed me. It’d been days since I’d written to No One. How had I forgotten to share this new part of my life with ink and papyrus? Only…I wasn’t right when I said Elder didn’t know about me.

He does.

He read my notes to No One.

Each and every letter.

I looked up, faint anger folding with warm annoyance. “You already know more about my past than you let on. You read my inner most thoughts. You stole them.”