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That should offend me in a way, but that’s the last emotion gripping my heart.
The car comes to a stop in front of the mansion before I can say anything. Jonathan releases my throat, only so he can carry me in his arms out of the vehicle.
I grip his shoulder. “I can walk.”
“And I can carry you.”
This man is a serious tyrant.
We pass by Margot and she watches us for a second, probably because of the tomato stains on my jacket. “May I get you anything, sir?”
“Food, Margot,” Jonathan says while breezing past her. “Leave it in front of my room.”
He doesn’t wait for her reply as he ascends the stairs, not caring about the weight he’s carrying. He really doesn’t have the stamina of an old man. I can only imagine what he was like young.
Or not.
That means imagining him with Alicia, and I feel so guilty towards her right now. I feel so guilty for wanting her husband for myself. For feeling safe with him like I never have with another human being.
He’s like the fortress inside of which I know nothing will come near me, let alone hurt me.
In the room, Jonathan lowers me to my feet and peels the jacket off me, then throws it behind him. “Those fuckers.”
“Jonathan…”
“Not a word, Aurora. I won’t stand by as they do this to you.”
“No, I meant…what you said earlier. Why did you?”
“What part?”
“The part about how I’m your fiancée?”
He raises a brow. “Aren’t you?”
“W-what?”
His expression remains blank, and I hate that I can’t see past it. “You are, in a way.”
“No. We had a deal, remember? I only have a few weeks left here, then each of us will go our own way. There certainly was no fiancée clause in there.” Even as I say the words, my throat closes around the part where we’ll separate.
Jonathan watches me for a beat too long, which makes me fidget. When he finally speaks, his voice is lethal, “Is that what you think?”
“That’s what it is. It’s what we agreed on.” I don’t know why I keep emphasising the point I hate. All I want is an explanation for the whole fiancée thing and why the hell he brought it up in front of the press.
It could be a camouflage tactic recommended by his solicitor, or even Harris. No clue why I’m mentioning the forgotten agreement. Maybe I want confirmation of it, because I sure as shit am starting to forget it exists. And when I do remember it, my stomach sinks at how little time there is left.
Jonathan continues his unreadable study of my face. I hate his closed features so much right now. Of all times, he can’t seal himself from me now.
“Huh.”
That’s it? Huh. What is that supposed to mean?
I see?
I agree?
It’s nothing?
