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She frowns as she raises her eyes to mine.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because you’re my wife.”
It rolls out easily, without having to be weighted or considered. Ella blushes, chewing on her lip.
“And because you, what, owed my father?”
I ignore that one.
“Are you hungry?”
She shakes her head. “I think I just want to sleep some more.”
“Good, you need rest.”
She trembles as my hands land on her bare upper arms, pushing her gently back against the bedsheets. I tuck them in around her, amused by the confusion and flush on her face as I do.
I very much want to kiss her—even if it’s just her forehead, or hand. But I don’t. She might not be screaming in my face, but there’s a very large, very important conversation we need to have before that happens.
We need to bury our collective past for good.
I stand, my gaze dragging over her, as if I’m double-checking she’s safe.
“Sleep, Ella.”
She just nods, still chewing her bottom lip as I turn and leave the room, hitting the lights on my way out.
Goddamnis she stubborn. Obviously, there’s more to this story. Something else happened in that alley to push her over the edge. And Iwillbe finding out what that was.
Liam looks up from watching security camera feeds on his laptop when I walk into his unofficial “office” in my house—a former billiards room.
“I need to know what happened at that bloody bar.”
He nods stiffly, setting the laptop to the side as he stands.
“Already been trying to pull security feeds from other area businesses. There’s a few I haven’t gotten ahold of yet, though.”
“Tear the fucking city apart to find out what happened. And Liam?”
My brows furrow. It’s a thought I’ve been harboring ever since Ella’s insistence on working her shifts at the pub. And again, it was her damned shitty poker face that set me on this path. I’ve never quite bought the idea that she “needed” to be there—during prime business hours—because she just needed something to do or wanted to spend time with Harriet.
It was tonight that those suspicions were underscored.
I know it was tough for Harriet to call me from Ella’s phone tonight. And equally hard for her to ask me for my help.
“She’s having a panic attack or something. And… look, I think you’re a fucking arrogant asshole. But you have a way with her. She needs help, Noel.”
What turned my theory into the scent of blood in the water was Harriet handing me an envelope of cash—Ella’s money from the last week—and firmly making sure Ella would get it.
At first, I was going to roll my eyes—as if there was a fear of mestealingall of a few hundred pounds from Ella. But then, it clicked.
Harriet wasn’t worried about me taking the money. She just knew it was very, very important for Ella to have it.
My jaw grits.
Sheneedsto work at The Glass Slipper because she needs money. And I need to know what for.
