Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

It’s the “please” that finally does it. I sink into the chair,
swallowing because my mouth is suddenly so dry.
He sits also. After a moment, he says, “That dress.”
I glance up at him, bracing myself for another insult about
my fussy wedding gown, but he’s gazing with lowered lids at
the dress I’m currently wearing. He probably thinks this one is
hideous, too.
Self-conscious, I fiddle with one of the spaghetti straps.
“It’s old. Simple.”
His dark eyes flash up to meet mine. He says hotly,
“Simple is better on you. Perfection doesn’t need any
embellishment.”
it.
It’s a good thing I’m not holding a glass, because I’d drop
Stunned, I stare at him. He stares right back, looking like
he’d like to punch himself in the face.
It’s obvious he doesn’t like it when he gives me
compliments. Also obvious is that he never intends to, they
just come out.
Less obvious is why he gets so angry with himself when it
happens.
My cheeks burning, I say, “Thank you. That’s…probably
the nicest compliment I’ve ever been given.”
He grinds his molars for a while, then takes a long swig of
his whiskey. He sets the glass back down on the tabletop with
such force, I jump.
He’s regretting the invitation. Time to let him off the hook.
“It was very nice of you to invite me over, but I can see
you’d rather be alone. So thank you for—”
“Stay.”
It comes out as a barked command. When I blink, startled,
he softens it with a murmured, “Please.”
“Okay, but only if you take your meds.”