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"Did you know about Lucian?" I ask him.
Ryder goes quiet for a very long time, and for some reason, I begin to pray he didn't. I'm angry enough, and Ryder is right there.
He's close but not close enough that I won't have to fight the urge to shoot him in the back of the head.
"No. No one told me this had happened. I knew she was sad, but not that the child was the reason." He murmurs, taking turns that lead me away from the rambling mansion.
I sit up and run a hand through my already scattered hair. This is something I haven't heard before. "She was sad?"
He lifts his eyes to the mirror and watches me quietly for a moment. I wave my hand to tell him he's safe to speak to me as he will. "Trust me, if I was going to kill anyone today, I'd much rather it was Mel. You would barely move the pendulum on my anger."
"You wouldn't kill her. You never would be able to." He says, his deep voice certain in a way the rest of the family seem to be when it comes to Mel.
And because I'd rather not deal with that thought, I ask what I want an answer to. "Mel was sad? For how long?"
"Maybe three months before she left. You were busier. Away more often. She was alone a lot and you never did explain. She had to learn all she did during that period from your siblings or whatever scrap her father would let her glean. I promise I didn't know about the pregnancy, but it would explain a lot."
Fuck. I close my eyes again. How the hell was I to explain to a woman I love—loved, that I was drenched in something that was such an utter opposite of her? I was lucky enough to have her light in my darkness; I had no wish to ruin her.
I had no plans to make her hate me for things I couldn't help. And it was starting to look like I'd pushed her away.
"Get me home."
Ryder whistles a dull tune the entire drive back to the house while I keep my eyes closed and massage my forehead. I'm still angry, but I'm willing to talk. I'm willing to listen to her.
Let her explain, make me feel less at fault or the worst man for driving her away.
When we arrive home, it's already evening, and the guards stationed around the house snap to attention like they weren't expecting me back home. I wait for Ryder to open my door, then I step out of the car and walk into the house.
It's oddly quiet. Not a sound. And Romero is absent at the door, which should've been my first sign that something wasn't right—isn't right still because I do a rotation of the down floor before walking up the stairs, a strange buzzing disquiet in my stomach.
The sound of rushing water meets my ears immediately I step into my room, and I rush to the bathroom, worried, just not giving voice to all the thoughts rushing through my head.
I swing the door open and pull to a stop. Literally frozen in my tracks, my throat dry, my hands itching, and my eyes feasting on the woman showering.
I'm fucked. I know it now as certainly as the first time I'd laid eyes on her during my first visit to Sedric's home. I was hooked then, as surely as I'm hooked now.
15
MEL
Xander is in the room with me.
I stiffen, my shoulders relaxing the next second. The water is still pounding down over my bare body, but it barely disguises the way my heart is pounding in my chest, the way my stomach is suddenly queasy.
He's back. I can almost feel it. It's as though my body has an antenna, and right now, it's lifting towards and searching for him. And I can't find him because there's a dark cloud of anger between us.
I decide I'll ignore him; I don't have much of a choice anyway. I don't have anything to say to him that will make this anger between us vanish.
And I don't even blame him for it, which somehow makes it worse. Or better. I don't know which.
The shower door opens, and I do go rigid because the next second, his hips press into my bare ass, hard and insistent, and I shudder because though he's fully clothed, the imprint of his hard-on is so strong that I'm almost totally needy right away.
I try to turn towards him, but he presses his hand into my shoulder and keeps my face away from his. "Xander?"
"Stay just this way. Maybe I can pretend for a second longer that you didn't hurt me. That you're still the woman I thought you were,” he growls at the nape of my neck, the words chasing a shiver down my body.
I push back against him, his cock digging at me. "Can we at least talk?" I’m not sure if I actually want to talk, though. The feel of him behind me is changing my body, and what I want is not words.
