Page 129 of Fallen Court

The side door opened, and Lach stepped through, carrying a bottle of wine. Our eyes met and held so long that I forgot how to breathe, my resolve diminishing with each passing second.

“I got your note,” I blurted out, the words bouncing in the large, empty space. I crossed my arms over my chest, fixing him with a guarded look. A million questions piled into my mind, but only one seemed important. “What do you want?”

Now? Tomorrow? For the rest of our lives?

We could start with the first and work our way toward the rest.

“Sit down.” Lach gestured to the table. “I just want you to hear me out.”

I stared at him, my eyes trying hopelessly to adjust in the dark so I could get a better read on him.

“Please,” he added, not budging from his spot across the room.

“Finally, some manners,” I muttered, and a cautious smile tugged at his lips. Releasing a slow breath, I walked over and took a seat at the candlelit table. I tapped the handle of the spoon. “If you think that we can just sit down and pretend like nothing happened…”

I didn’t know where I was going with that threat.

“I know that.” He took a single step before he frowned down at the wine in his hands. Depositing it on the nearest table, he raked a hand through his hair. “I meant to plan a whole speech, but dinner took longer than I expected.”

“You…cooked?” Possibly the biggest surprise of the evening.

He nodded, rubbing his palms together as he looked around the room.

“I’m right here,” I reminded him. “Or are you looking for an exit so you can keep avoiding me?”

I braced myself, expecting him to lash out. To remind me that I had been the one to walk out last week. But he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Reaching to his wrist, he unbuttoned a cufflink and let it scatter to the floor.

“Are you—”

He raised a single finger to silence me.

I slumped into my chair as he rolled up one of his shirtsleeves, revealing the toned muscles of his forearm and a tattoo slowly trailing out of sight. “I was wrong,” he said quietly. “About a lot of things.”

It took me a second to process the words. When I finally did, I tilted my head to acknowledge them, half of me too shocked to speak and the other half not quite ready to let my guard down. Some of my anger ebbed at his admission, but I stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

He flicked the next cufflink across the room and rolled up his other sleeve. “I’ve been an asshole—a complete and utter asshole—to you.” Regret laced his smile, and I found my own lips tugging at the corners in spite of myself. I pressed them into a flat line before he stopped.

“Not going to argue with you on that.”

He snorted. “Fair enough.”

And he wasn’t even going to let me pick a fight. Maybe he had learned his lesson. I opened my mouth to let him off the hook, but he held up a hand. “Let me finish. I need to say this.”

But he didn’t speak. He dropped onto one knee.

I was going to need a defibrillator. My breath caught in my throat. “Gage, what the—”

“Go with it.” He grinned. Still holding my gaze, he lowered his other knee to the ground.

Disappointment splashed in my chest, dashed away when he planted his palms on the ground and lowered his head.

“I’m so sorry, Cate.” He started to crawl. “For everything. I was stubborn and pigheaded and completely blind. I fucked up. I don’t deserve your forgiveness…”

I gripped the arms of my chair, afraid I was going to fall out of it. I’d expected an apology, but this…

Lachlan Gage was ruthless. He was powerful. He held New Orleans in the palm of his hands.

And I had him on his knees.