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“I’ve letyou have your silence to dwell in, but can you please let me know what the fuck that was back there?”
Now is not the time to admit it was a dose of humble pie, because right now, I’d willingly shove it down Andreas’s throat and watch him choke on it.
“It’s a funeral, Andreas. I’m just back to pay my respects, Andreas. I just want to lay him to rest and we’ll leave, Andreas.” He’s mocking. Mocking me, the situation, every lie I fed him. “There’s nothing to it, Andreas.”
“Okay, Andreas!” I bellow, reacting heatedly. “I was meant to be back for my father’s funeral. That was never a lie. The deal was I come back, and I lay him to rest, and I take what’s rightfully mine.”
“Something I had assumed meant a chunk of cash or some real estate, not what looked like an event fit for a king.”
I narrow my gaze, but I don’t speak. I can’t bring myself to do so.
“The deal was you were back to bury your father and get your inheritance. Fuck, Tally. You told me you were back to get your stake of what was yours so we could start over, but what we walked into was more than a funeral, wasn’t it?”
“The funeral wasn’t today.” My admittance is feeble, and my reasoning is worse. “Look,” I start, and he groans.
Pushing space between us, Andreas begins to pace, each step heavier than the last. I had prepared for this reaction, but I didn’t want to deal with it. This part of my life was an inevitability. It hung on the precipice of my reality with bated breath and sharp claws, always preparing to pull me back.
“Andreas-”
“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” he cuts me off with a venomous tone.
“His funeral was merely a formality. It was a part of the plan, honest.”
Andreas knew I wasn’t back for petty games, but he didn’t know I was back to claim a throne, and the hurt in his eyes is almost enough to make a pang of guilt ache in me.
Almost.
“You know the good thing about plans is that, usually, the other willing counterpart has a clue what’s going on.” There’s a roughness in his voice I haven’t heard before. An edge I’ve put there. “Why did you drag me into something like that without making me totally aware?”
“It wasn’t like that…”
“That was rhetorical, Talia,” he bites, his eyes narrowing on me. “I know you’re hellbent on this path of destruction. Hell, I think you were even born on it, but you seem to do what every other fucker in my life does. You forget that I know what this life entails. So, at what point did you think it was okay to treat me with the same kid gloves everyone else does?”
I rock a bit on the spot. His accusation hits me solid, centre mass. I knew Andreas was better than the world we were cursed into, but never did I mistake what he could handle. Only, coming back here, to the palace, to a place I used to call home, was like presenting a part of myself I didn’t want him to see.
“And if I’m just another pawn in this game, don’t expect me to hang around. I’m not about to find out how expendable I am to you.”
As if to add truth to his words, he starts to move away from me and towards the door, hastily taking his exit before he can find out what else I’m capable of.
Selfishly, I can’t let him leave. Not for fear of gaining an enemy, but for fear of losing the only person I’ve had by my side since we found one another only a few years ago.
“Fine! Fine, Andreas. I kept quiet on a lot of the details because I was worried you wouldn’t stay by my side.”
He turns, and his face softens enough to lose the harsh edges my hurt forced upon him.
“I’ve had enough people turn their back on me, but you seem to always be here. I just thought if you knew what I was up to, it would give you a reason to leave.”
He laughs, mirthlessly and light all at once. “I think you need to acknowledge I’m made of stronger stuff than that,” he replies, but his voice does little to hide the hurt. “You and I… cut from the same cloth, right?”
“Wrong,” I argue on a sigh. “You and I are so different and so wrong.”
Andreas laughs again, shaking his head. “I might be disowned by my family, but I still have the Giannotti blood in my veins. What was so bad you couldn’t trust me with it?”
“It wasn’t about trust,” I argue, my voice tightening. “I did it out of shame.”
He fixes me with a glance, forcing me to own up to my transgressions and place us firmly on the same page.
“Look, something happened years ago. Something that made me the outcast. You don’t become the disgraced daughter of Nicolas Abernathy for nothing.”
