The taste Of Revenge
Men like Xavier speak in load-bearing sentences without ever checking what they're holding up.
I turn in the chair and look up at him and let my face do the thing it's so good at doing. I give a soft, grateful, a little breathless face of a woman hearing exactly the words she's always wanted and I say it back. And God help me, some ruined, girlish sliver of me still means it, even now, even with everything already coiled and waiting beneath my skin. That's the particular horror of loving a man like Xavier. The love doesn't die when you decide to destroy him.