Chapter 9
The penthouse dining room was a mausoleum of crystal and steel, the chandelier’s icy light refracting across untouched plates of seared scallops and saffron risotto. Svetlana swirled her pinot noir, the liquid catching the light like spilled ink. “I was just saying,” she drawled, “you finally got hard last night.”
Zemo didn’t look up from his plate. “Because I was thinking about someone else.”
Her manicured nail tapped the stem of her glass. Clink. Clink. Clink. “Who?”
He shrugged.
“How old is she?”
“Twenty-one.”
Svetlana’s laugh was a shard of glass. “Fucking your students now, Zemo? How… pedestrian.”
The fork trembled in his hand. “I like her.”
“This is temporary.” She leaned back, her silk blouse gaping to reveal the hollow of her throat—a place he’d once kissed, now as cold as her voice. “You’re too smart to torch your career for a hot little slut.”
Zemo met her gaze. “I know you’ve been cheating. You don’t have to pretend anymore. I’m ending this because I… feel something. I won’t betray you like you did me.”
Svetlana tossed her napkin onto her plate, risotto congealing into a grotesque sculpture. “If you’d performed your duties, we wouldn’t be here.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Is she sweet enough to get you expelled?”
“Why do you care?”
“Curiosity.” Her smile was a scalpel. “I never took you for a cliché. A midlife crisis? Really? If you wanted to fuck a young girl, you could’ve picked one outside your classroom.”
Zemo’s voice hardened. “And the cheating? The disgust when I touched you?”
“Standard relationship, darling.”
“I pity you, Svetlana. I hope one day you understand love.”
“Love?” She barked a laugh. “You had a crush five minutes ago. Now it’s love?”
“Let’s end this cleanly.”
Svetlana stood, stalking toward him, her stilettos click-click-clicking like a countdown. “My dad wanted your patents, your weird inventions. But I’m done.” She gripped his chin, her breath sour with wine. “I’ll tell him you’re impotent. A queer who couldn’t fuck me.”
Zemo wrenched free. “Goodbye, Svetlana.”
She smirked, adjusting her diamond bracelet. “Thanks for playing the obedient dog.”
* * *
Thor’s loft was a sanctuary of warmth—fairy lights strung haphazardly, the scent of cumin and melted cheese clinging to the air. Loki checked the microwave, popcorn kernels popping like gunfire, while Thor arranged tacos on a chipped platter painted with luchadores.
“I’m cooold!” Elena’s voice carried from the living room, muffled by the fleece blanket burritoed around her.
“Coming, baby!” Thor called, balancing the plate as he lumbered to the couch.
Loki trailed behind, mimicking in a falsetto, “Coming, baby!”
Elena sprawled across the three-seater, her feet in Thor’s lap, toes painted blood-red. Loki settled beside her, and she immediately flopped her head onto his thighs. “Can I—?”
“Since when do you ask?” He rolled his eyes, fingers threading through her hair.
Thor hit play on a low-budget horror film—Zombie Tacos from Mars—and the room filled with synthetic screams. Loki tugged Elena’s earlobe. “You’re twitchy.”
“Am not.”
“Liar.”
A ping cut through the chaos. Elena lunged for her phone, the blanket pooling at her waist.
From: Prof. Zemo
Subject: Late Submission
*Miss Van Houten—
Your assignment remains outstanding. Submit by midnight or face expulsion.
Perhaps your boyfriends can assist?
Regards,
H.Z.*
Elena bit her lip, laughter bubbling in her throat.
“What’s funny?” Thor mumbled through a mouthful of tortilla.
“Homework reminder.” She kissed Loki’s palm, then turned to Thor. “Taco?”
“Kiss first.”
Loki groaned. “Eat your Thor-tilla, you oaf.”
As the trio dissolved into laughter, Loki watched Elena—the too-innocent tilt of her head, the way her thumb brushed the phone screen like a secret. She was a storm in a sundress, and he’d be damned if he let her blow them apart.