Page 84 of When Sinners Fear
She rolls her eyes and gets on with drying her hair, as if that logic makes little sense to her. It’s all I’ve got for her at the moment, though, because I’m not leaving my family or her, and hiding my life will never be an option for me other than protecting her.
Before long we’re out the door and making our way to the nearest high-end realtor I can find. The guy’s all over us like a rash the moment I give him my price range. He smooths his way over us like a sleaze, all smiles and platitudes. He also gets too fucking close to her for my liking, which doesn’t start firing my brain in the right direction for conversation.
“I need her moved in by the weekend. Three beds. Penthouse.”
“Sir, I’m not sure that’s going to be possible.”
I pull Peyton to me. “How about this, if you manage to get your fucking eyes off her in the next five seconds, you’ll survive long enough to do your job.” His face sheets white, and he backs up a step. Better. “This isn't a negotiation of any kind. This is me getting what I want one way or another. Choose your next words carefully."
He doesn't look anywhere but me. “Sir, I apologise if–”
“Good. We're going over the street for breakfast. Find me at least three properties to view within the hour and I'll triple the commission.”
Peyton squeezes my hand. “Knox, that’s silly, and I really don’t need somewhere that quick. Or that big. This is going really fast.”
“Yes, you do.”
The guy doesn’t speak, but he does nod. So, I walk out with her in tow. Breakfast is whatever she chooses. I don’t eat. I can’t until I know she’s settled and everything’s as it needs to be. It’s an unusual feeling for me, but everything is centred on her and her alone – her safety, her thoughts, her wants. I drink my espresso and flick through her book, still simmering with fury about that asshole looking at her. I try memorising various forms of sub fields in her study to calm down. It barely works, but Quantum Chaos together with inter-disciplinary applications proves relatively stimulating.
“Whilst I know about the eidetic memory, you can’t possibly be actually learning as well,” she says, closing her cutlery.
“Why not?”
“Memorising isn’t theorising.”
I keep reading. “Now you’re after my poet again. Whimsicality. Mathematical evaluation doesn’t need theory, it needs facts. It learns in the present. I won’t need theory until you question me on the fundamentals of what I’ve memorised. By which time, I’ll have used the rest of this book to rationalise the entirety of the sub fields alongside each other. We can theorise quasi-particle breakdown all you like, later.”
“That’s ridiculously clever. And unfair. I’m too mad at your ability to swallow the information that easily to even debate it.”
My gaze rises from the page. “I have other things you can swallow to compensate.”
She giggles and leans back on her chair. “Oh, you do, do you?”
“Yes. Can’t say it’ll be that easy, though. You’ll choke more next time.”
She sips her tea, as I flick another page. “You think?" My brow arches, an amused smile dropping. I know. “Maybe I need more practice. That realtor seemed interested. I’m sure he’d–”
“I was never really insane, except upon occasion when my heart was touched.” They might be Poe's words, but they now mean more to me than she can possibly imagine. I raise my stare slowly, because she needs to understand that if she doesn't already. “I will give you everything, Peyton. Every part of me. But be careful. Don't ever think about playing with my jealousy. You don't want my insane. He isn't nice, and he's far from reasonable.”
The door opens, cutting the dialogue, and a hassled looking realtor comes into the small restaurant. “Mr Cortez, I’ve managed to find four properties to view,” he says, sitting down beside me. “All within a ten-minute walk of Caltech.” He spreads out the paperwork, attempting to show me whilst not looking at Peyton for a second.
“Not me, her.”
“Yes. Of course.”
I watch her look at some of them, as he pushes them over and stays well back. She glances at me all the time, checking in no doubt given my words. Other than security, I couldn't give a damn about the place she chooses. I guess that's relatively obvious by me staying centred on the guy in case he tries looking again. To his credit, he doesn't.
“Which one first?” I ask.
“You haven’t even looked at them.”
“I don’t need to. You choose.”
She frowns and looks at the guy, and eventually gets herself up and walks outside without either of us. By the time I catch up with her she’s leaning on my car and looking out at the road.
“What’s the problem?” I ask.
“Some of those apartments are seven thousand dollars a month, and you’ve said you’d triple the commission, and you’re not even looking at them?”