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Jack's only response was a lift of his brow.
And then the worst possible thing happened. Her eyes filled with tears. The house meant so much to her. She hated herself for the weakness—hated the way Jack seemed to make her weaker still. She even hated her desperation to hang on to what was basically a pile of bricks and mortar.
Yes. But it was filled with generations of memories.
"I'm not talking about the house," Jack insisted. "I'm more concerned about the way Harold treats you. But we can discuss the house too, if you want?"
"Stop it," she warned. She would not be charmed by that slanting smile. He'd be gone soon. "We have nothing to discuss where the house is concerned."
She moved away as the kitchen door slammed, heralding Harold's approach. Jack had no idea. He thought everything was black and white here, when nothing in life was that simple; it was all shades of grey.
"I'm not happy leaving you with that man," he said, frowning.
"That man is my husband," she said pointedly.
Jack raked his hair as if she hadn't spoken. "Come back to the hotel with me," he said. "Then at least I can know you're safe. I'd be happy to book you a room—"
"Stop it," she hissed as Harold's footsteps approached. "Harold has never harmed me."
"Not so anyone can see," Jack said shrewdly. "He pushed you to the floor right in front of me. What would he do if I wasn't here?"
"That's just the drink talking," she said.
Jack shook his head.
The fact that Jack cared when they hardly knew each other, shocked her. "I'd better get back to the kitchen to see to the meal—"
"Yes, you should," Harold agreed as he walked into the room.
Having found Bella, he was worried about her, and now he was forced to endure the rest of the evening trying to read Harold's face. He wanted to try and work out if Bella was in imminent danger, or if it was safe to leave her here when he left.
She had prepared a delicious meal. Bella was delicious too, but she didn't look at him once. The house wasn't discussed, either. The fact that Harold didn't bring it up worried him. Jack would leave it to the lawyers to sort out. If Bella wouldn't sign, he wouldn't force her. He had to hope Harold wouldn't try to do that, either.
Bella remained quiet and withdrawn, and towards the end of the evening, when Harold was slumped snoring in his chair after having consumed the best part of a bottle of whisky, as well as a couple of bottles of red wine, he stared straight at her.
"See? He's harmless," she whispered. "So, if you want to do something useful, stop scowling like that, and help me clear up instead."
"Am I so obvious?"
"Yes, you are," she said.
"Does he do a lot of this?" he asked her in the kitchen.
"Sleep it off, do you mean?" She huffed a laugh. "What do you think?"
What he thought was unprintable.
"So, what happens next?" he pressed, thinking about Bella once Harold woke up.
She shrugged. "I do what I always do—wait until he can make it upstairs, and then I help him. If he can't climb the stairs, I'll steer him to the sofa. I cover him up and leave him 'til morning. He's always made it to the sofa so far," she said with another shrug.
"And that's your life?"
"Why are you judging me, Jack Castle?"
"I'm not. I'm concerned about you."
"Then don't be."
