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Lily gave a half laugh and for a minute he thought she had finished speaking, but then she continued.
‘At firs
t I tried to wake them, but even then I knew.’ She shook her head at the pointlessness of such a gesture. ‘There’s something about the utter stillness of a dead body that even a small child can understand. I knew—I knew even though I didn’t know what was wrong—I knew I would never see them again.’
She stared into the fire for a long moment and Tristan thought it was lucky her parents weren’t here right now or he’d kill them all over again. Then Lily gave an exaggerated shiver and smiled brightly at him.
‘Gosh, I haven’t thought of that for years.’
Something of the anxiety he felt must have shown in his face because she turned back to the fire and sipped at the sherry she had barely touched. She was obviously upset and embarrassed, and Tristan felt heaviness lodge in his chest. He’d had no idea she’d suffered such a huge trauma at such a young age.
As if sensing his overwhelming need to comfort her she shot him a quelling look he’d seen before, but his mind couldn’t place.
‘I’m fine now,’ she dismissed, but Tristan could see it was an effort for her to force her wide, shining eyes to his. ‘Completely over it.’
No, she wasn’t. Any fool could see that, and he didn’t like that she was trying to make light of it with him. ‘No, you’re not. I think you hide behind your parents’ controversial personas—the controversial persona you’ve also cultivated with the press. Almost as if you use your past as a shield so people don’t get to see the real you.’
Lily stiffened, shock etched on her features, and then Tristan remembered where he’d seen that haughty look before. Right after they’d had sex that first time.
CHAPTER TWELVE
LILY stared at Tristan and willed the ground to open up and devour one of them. She’d been having such a nice time and now he’d gone and ruined it.
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she whispered, placing her glass carefully on the hearth and willing the lump in her throat to subside. She stared at the inlaid stonework around the fireplace and realised she was about to cry. Cry! She never cried, and she wasn’t about to start in Tristan’s presence.
‘Lily…’
Lily quickly scrambled to her feet, holding her hands out in front of her as Tristan made to do the same. ‘I’m…’
The words wouldn’t come and she turned to flee, making it only as far as the upholstered French settee before Tristan caught her.
‘I can’t let you leave like this.’ He spoke gruffly, swinging her around to face him and Lily promptly burst into tears.
She tried to push him away but he was like an immovable force and she pounded his chest instead. ‘Let me go. Let me—’ A sob cut off her distressed plea and Tristan gathered her closer.
‘Lily, I’m sorry. I really am an insensitive fool, and you were right the other day. I don’t know anything.’
Rather than making her feel better that only made it worse and she buried her face in her hands, unable to hold back her tears any more.
‘Shh, Lily, shh,’ Tristan urged, holding her tighter. ‘Let me soothe you,’ he husked, his voice thick with emotion.
Lily tried to resist, but somehow all the events of the week converged and rendered her a sobbing mess, unable to put up any resistance when Tristan sank down onto the settee and pulled her into his lap.
He continued to stroke her even after her tears had abated and Lily rested against him, her mind spinning.
Tristan was wrong when he said she hid behind her public image. It was just easier to let people think what they wanted. They would anyway, and really she didn’t care a jot what anyone thought.
But if that were true then why had she turned her back on the country she loved and set herself up in America, where people judged her more on her actions than on her past? Why had she always tried to do what Frank expected of her? And why had Tristan’s rejection of her hurt so much six years ago?
Lily drew in a long, shuddering breath and then released it, her body slowly relaxing in Tristan’s warm embrace. Try as she might she couldn’t find valid reasons for her actions. Valid reasons for why she let the press write what they wanted about her. It was easy to say that no one would believe her if she corrected them. But why not?
An image of her mother, wretched and crying, came to mind, and Lily squeezed her eyes against the devastating image.
But then other images crowded in. Happier ones. Her mother singing to her and towelling her off after a bath. Her father putting her on his shoulders as they strolled through Borough Market eating falafels and brownies. Visiting her mother’s photo shoots and putting on make-up with her in front of her dressing-table mirror. Curling up with her father while he played around with his guitar.
Lily gulped in air and her heart caught. More unprecedented memories of her parents stumbled through her mind and she felt breathless with surprise.
She felt Tristan’s arms tighten around her, one of his hands stroking from the top of her head to the base of her spine as one might soothe an upset child. As her mother had once soothed her.
