BLOOD BENEATH HER PERFUME

ALANA

There’s a scent I can never wash off.

It clings to my skin even after three showers and my favorite vanilla lotion.

Even when I drown it in expensive perfume and rose oil, it always lingers. Blood.

It’s not always literal. Sometimes it’s memory. Sometimes it’s your last name.

I’ve learned how to walk through the world like I’m weightless. Like I don’t leave footprints behind. People look at me and see silk and soft things. Dresses that flutter when I move. Lip gloss that smells like peach. The kind of smile that says I’ve never had to beg for anything in my life.

And they’re right. In one way.

But what they don’t know, what Zach doesn’t know, is that the only reason I don’t beg is because people bleed when I ask for something.

I’m still thinking about him when I walk into my father’s office. My heels click against the marble like little gunshots. The sound usually makes me feel powerful. Today, it makes me nervous.

Roman Vittore sits behind a desk that’s older than I am. He’s not reading anything, not writing, just sitting. Thinking. That’s always the worst. He’s most dangerous when he’s quiet.

“You’re late,” he says without looking up.

“I wasn’t aware I was being timed,” I reply, tone even. Respectful, but not obedient. I know where the line is, and I know how to walk it without falling.

He finally lifts his gaze. Gray eyes. Cold as the barrel of a gun. He’s in a black button-down, sleeves rolled. There’s a silver watch on his wrist and a blade on the desk in front of him, not decorative.

He likes to clean his knives when he’s bored. Or when he’s thinking about someone who needs to disappear.

“I’ve been hearing whispers,” he says calmly.

 “About you.”

My blood turns to glass.

“Oh?”

“You’ve been spending time in the South District.”

“I like the diner there.”

“You like the company more.”

I don’t flinch. I can’t.

“It’s nothing serious,” I lie. “He’s just someone to talk to.”

Roman nods slowly, as if weighing every syllable. “Zachary Pierce. Age nineteen. No priors. Not affiliated. Raised in the system. No blood ties.”

The room shrinks.

He knows everything. Of course he does.

“Are you watching me now?” I ask, forcing a cold smile.

“I always have been.”

I shift my weight and let out a soft, practiced laugh. “He’s harmless.”

“No one is harmless.”

He picks up the blade and begins to wipe it clean, though it doesn’t look dirty. Not yet.

“End it,” he says, eyes never leaving mine. “Before it becomes something I have to clean up.”

And just like that, I’m dismissed.

I don’t cry when I leave. I don’t even blink. But when I get back into my car, my hands are shaking.

Zach’s face flashes in my mind. The way he looked at me yesterday when I touched the edge of his tattoo. The way his voice went soft when he said, So are you.

He doesn’t know who I am. Not really.

But part of me thinks he’s starting to suspect.

And part of me wishes he would just ask. Just say it.

Because if he forces the truth out of me, maybe it wouldn’t feel so much like betrayal.

But until then, I have to pretend.

So I drive to his place like I always do. Like nothing’s wrong.

When he opens the door, I realize I’ve never looked forward to someone’s face like this before.

He’s barefoot, wearing worn jeans and a T-shirt with a faded graphic I can’t quite make out. His hair’s a little damp like he just got out of the shower. He smells like cedar and salt and smoke.

He doesn’t even say hi before he pulls me in and kisses my temple.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

I nod. Lie.

“Yeah.”

He pulls back slightly, frowning.

“You sure? You look…”

“I’m fine,” I cut him off too quickly.

He notices. Of course he does. But he doesn’t press. That’s the thing about Zach, he knows how to give people room without making them feel alone.

I hate how much I love him for that.

Later, when we’re lying on his bed, him on his back, me curled against his side, he plays with my fingers like they’re puzzle pieces.

“You always wear dresses,” he says softly.

I look up.

“You like them?”

“They drive me insane.”

I laugh.

“Why?”

He turns his head, meets my eyes.

“Because you look like something I should protect. But I know you’d burn the world before you let someone save you.”

My smile fades.

He always says things like that, right on the edge of truth, but never quite enough to call me out. Like he’s trying to see how far I’ll let him go.

“I wear them because they’re comfortable,” I lie.

“You wear them because people underestimate you in them.”

Touché.

He traces the line of my jaw, slow and careful.

“You’re not like anyone I’ve met,” he whispers.

“Good different or bad different?”

He smiles. “Terrifying different.”

“I’ll take it.”

“But you’re also…” He stops, like the words won’t come.

“Also what?”

“Beautiful,” he says finally. “Not the fake kind. Not the made-up kind. Just… fuck. You’re the kind of beautiful that makes people ruin things.”

I blink.

No one’s ever said that to me. Not even men who’ve promised me countries. Not even killers who’ve tried to worship me with diamond rings and blood money.

Zach says it and means it like it hurts to mean it.

And I think that’s when I know, I can’t end this.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

When I leave that night, I take the long way home.

I park near the river and roll down the windows. The air smells like moss and gasoline. The wind tangles my hair.

I let myself cry. Just a little. Just enough to feel like a person again.

Because I can’t tell him. Not yet. But I can’t give him up either.

And one day soon, I’ll have to choose.

Between the boy who sees me, really sees me,

and the family who would rather bury me than watch me disobey.

Roman calls the next morning. One word.

“Report.”

I hesitate.

“I’m handling it,” I say.

“You have one week.”

The line goes dead.

Back in my room, I stare at myself in the mirror. I’m wearing a white sundress with lavender trim. Soft. Feminine. Perfect.

But all I see is the blood beneath it.

All I see is the girl who’s running out of time.

Running out of lies.

And the boy who might be the only real thing I’ve ever touched, might be the first one I destroy without meaning to.