“Is there something you’d like to ask me?” I flipped through a proposal on my tablet for 300 acres of timber along the edge of the Yakama Indian Reservation in Washington State. Camille had been sitting on our bed, staring at me, and chewing on her thumb nail for almost three minutes straight.

“Yes.” She hugged her knees to her chest and wouldn’t meet my eyes. I wanted to tell her it was all right that she was angry, wanted to hold her in my arms while she talked to me about nothing and everything. But her withdrawn air told me I’d best keep my distance.

“Ask away.” I wrote a notation on the map, pointing out where we could illegally cut timber on the reservation without garnering notice.

“Why did you build the greenhouse if you’re going to keep me in this room all day?”

“The greenhouse is a reward.” I made another notation.

“For what?”

“Good behavior.”

She scowled. “Are you going to use it against me in some sort of deal?”

“No. I just want you to be you. You don’t have to act in any way to please me, because when you’re being yourself, you already do. I don’t need a deal for that. But I’m sure there will be plenty more of those.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Don’t be so shortsighted.” I dropped the tablet in my lap and stared at her. “My world runs on deals. I make an agreement to get what I want. You do the same. You wanted your books, so you made a deal for them.”

“Can we make another deal?”

My heart jumped at the prospect, but I kept my game face on. “What for?”

She leaned forward, her eagerness whetting my appetite for her even more. “If you let me go—”

“No deal.” I returned my attention to the tablet.

She fisted her small hands. Delightful. Though I was curious what she’d trade for that, it was out of the question. We were forever.

“What does good behavior entail?” She spat the words as if they were bitter.

“You follow my rules. Don’t try to escape. It’s quite simple. Once you’ve accepted that this is your life, a whole new world of opportunities will open up to you. The greenhouse, visits to the city, travel, anything you’ve ever dreamed of. I’ll give you everything. I want to give you everything. But I can’t do that till I trust you.”

“No sex?”

“Not until you ask nicely.” I swiped to the next contract on my tablet. “But you will sleep with me at night, naked, without complaint. Though I realize you prefer pajamas, especially ones with cats on them.”

“How do you know that?” Her eyebrows lowered, and I could sense her flipping through pieces of information in her mind, putting the picture together. She blanched, horror falling over her sweet face like curtains on a stage. “In fact, how do you know so much about me, right down to my favorite foods, the colors I prefer to wear, and what I like to sleep in?”

“I know everything there is to know about you.”

“How?” She seemed to shrink inward, making herself into the smallest possible version of herself.

I shrugged. “I went through your cottage a few days after we met—your computer, your contacts, your—”

“Oh my god.” She bolted and ran to the bathroom.

I followed, my steps muffled by the sound of her vomiting. She knelt over the toilet in the water closet. I reached out to pull her hair away from her face.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!” she shouted into the bowl.

I didn’t see what the big deal was. Going through her belongings was the smartest move—research. Was it so repulsive? As I watched her heave her lunch into the toilet, I supposed it must have been.

A foreign set of words tumbled around in my chest. Ones I’d only uttered at the urging of my father, and I’d definitely never meant them. I grabbed a hand towel from next to the sink and handed it to her.

She sat back on her ass and leaned the back of her head against the tiled wall next to the toilet. I didn’t like her color, didn’t like that I’d caused this reaction in her.

The words rattled around again, demanding their freedom almost as vehemently as Camille had done.

I took a chance. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Her incredulous eyes peered into mine. “Sorry for invading my privacy in the worst way?”

I made a mental note to never tell her about the cameras in her house. “It seemed logical.”

“Logical?” Her eyes closed, and she wiped her mouth with the white hand towel again. “Why do you act like a robot?”

“I’m not a robot.” I sat down near her, the tile warm beneath me. “I’m a psychopath.”

“Right.” She laughed, the sound strained and off key.

“I’m not as bad as you think.” I could taste the lie, acrid on my tongue, before the sentence was out of my mouth.

“I know.” She nodded. “You’re worse.”

I considered lying to her, but decided against it. “That’s accurate.”

She clenched her eyes shut, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “Just let me go.”

Her soft plea would have broken anyone else. It had the opposite effect on me. The more she tried to fly away, the harder I wanted to clip her wings. She was the most precious thing I’d ever found.

I rose. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Let me guess.” She swiped the tears away with the back of her hand. “You need to return some videotapes?”

“Once again, I find the fact that you can quote American Psycho quite telling.” It tells me I’m the only man for you.

She didn’t answer, just stared at me with her watery blue eyes, beautiful even as her tears continued to flow—or possibly because of them.