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“Because this is the first time it’s happened.”
Eleven
The Lies We Keep
Melanie
It was the first time I’d ever interacted with his brother directly.
Last time I saw him, he was screaming at Raven, telling her to run or he’d kill her.
Throughout the entire conversation, he looked like he wanted to kill me.
I’d taken a big risk, a risk that could ruin what I had with Fender. But when Gilbert had said he was here, I had to take the chance. I quickly scribbled that note and bunched it up in my hand. My heart still raced a million miles a minute because, any moment, I could be caught. I put my faith in the belief that Magnus still felt something for my sister—and would do as I asked.
He didn’t rat me out on the spot, so that was a good sign.
But he might change his mind tomorrow.
Or the next day.
The next morning when I woke up, I expected Fender to come at me hard with the news of my betrayal.
It didn’t happen.
I went into his office where he worked behind the desk—and everything was exactly the same.
Magnus didn’t tell him.
When we had lunch, he stared at me with an intensity that had increased significantly. The portrait had magnified his obsession. The idea of another woman being more beautiful than me was deeply offensive, and now he was on this tirade to prove that they were all wrong. It made him want me more, made him treat me the way he used to, made him forget about what I’d done.
I wondered if I could ask him to release Raven.
Or would I jeopardize these months of work?
I spent the evening in my bedroom before dinner, wondering if Fender would get that phone call from Magnus at any moment. I sat on the couch and tried to study, but the paranoia continued to suffocate me.
If Magnus were going to tell him, he would have done it already.
I had to keep telling myself that.
Gilbert knocked before he stepped inside, carrying a large tray that contained dinner for two. “His Highness will join you in a moment.” He set the table, two large plates with silver lids, along with tea and desserts.
“Thank you.”
Gilbert silently dismissed himself. He wasn’t outright rude to me, but he was never kind either.
Minutes later, Fender silently emerged, letting himself inside my bedroom without announcement. He approached the table then stared at me in my seat on the couch. Shirtless and muscular, he looked like a professional fighter rather than someone who sat at his desk all day and yelled at people.
I set my book and notebook on the end table then got up to join him.
His eyes watched me draw closer, his arm extending slightly so he could get it around my waist when I embraced him. His arm scooped around me and brought me in for a soft kiss, pulling me to him and almost lifting me off the ground. The look that came with it was searing, full of devotion, completely devoid of the previous anger he’d carried for months.
I’d never been loved by anyone the way he loved me.
When he released his hold, he pulled out the chair for me before he moved to the chair across from me.
I watched him go, a tremor in my throat, because I’d finally gotten back what we lost. I treasured it, and the second I asked him to release Raven, it would all be gone. No one saw the good in me the way he did. No one loved me the way he did. No one took care of me the way he did. I didn’t want to lose that.
But I had to.
We sat down and ate in silence.
Fender’s portions were always much bigger than mine, having enough food for three servings instead of just one. For him to maintain that size, he had to eat the calories to support it, and I wondered what his breakfast was like. I never saw him in the morning, so I had no glimpse into that aspect of his life.
With his eyes on me, he ate. He shoveled pieces of meat into his mouth then washed it down with water. He rarely drank scotch anymore, unless it was socially. “What is it?”
I was about to slice into my meat when I paused at the question. I stared at him for a few seconds, not understanding the question, and then continued to cut into my dinner and place a bite in my mouth.
He continued to eat, but his eyes remained fixed on me, waiting for the answer.
“Is he your younger brother or older brother?”
He slowly chewed as he listened to the question, taking his time to decide if he wanted to respond or not. “Younger.”
“You look a lot alike.” When they were in the same room, their similarities were profound. Magnus was leaner, having an athletic build of a runner or swimmer, but he still appeared strong. Fender, on the other hand, looked like a mountain.
