Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

seems to close again, and she sits up, her demeanor serious once again.
“See, Clarke?” Lizbeth props herself up on her elbows, looking around
Liv. “Just like that.”
I laugh to myself, seeing him shifting uneasily.
Lambert claps. “Okay, everyone! Tomorrow. Be here at three!”
Everyone starts to gather their things, chatter filling the room, and I watch
as Liv doesn’t come down to me but disappears backstage.
She had to have seen me. I check my phone, seeing I’m twenty minutes
late.
I carry the rose, climbing the stairs and veer behind the curtain and down
another small set of stairs. I find Liv in a dressing room with the door open as
she sits on a stool.
I hover at the door. “I brought you something to remind you of me.”
I hold the rose, and she doesn’t look right away, but after a moment, she
glances up.
She eyes the rose, looking sad, and my heart pounds. “Pink?” she asks.
I step into the room, closing the door and stopping in front of her. I lower
myself to the floor and to my knees. “Thorns.”
I set the flower on her dressing table and lie my head on her lap, hoping
she forgives me. I’m late, and I promised her I wouldn’t be.
“I’m full of thorns,” I say softly. “But there are things about me that I
hope are worth it.”
After a few seconds, I feel her hand in my hair. “I hate Romeo,” she says,
stroking my scalp. “But I’m starting to understand him. Fuck you for that,
Clay.”
I half-smile, because I know she’s bitter, because she’s cracking, and I
want that. I want what Trace promised. That the switch would flip, and she’d
be mine.
I peel up her sleeve and gaze at the octopus on the inside of her wrist.
“This is mine.” I smooth my thumb over the ink. “Forever mine. My piece of
you.” And then in a murmur, “‘Within this inch…I’m free.’”
This patch of skin won’t be anyone else’s ever. It’ll be mine when she
marries someone else. When she’s eighty. It’s all I really have of her.
I kiss her wrist and tip my head up as she puts one of the costume hats on
my head, a top hat like the one in her room.
She regards me, the wheels turning in her head, but before I can ask what
she’s thinking, she pinches my chin and leans down.