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“Do you remember me?” he asks, ambling toward me.
I cock a brow. “Should I?”
The numerous frown lines across his forehead deepen as his lips tug down. “I guess not. You were only a little one when I last saw you.”
The fact that we’ve met before is news to me.
Stopping in front of me, he holds out his wrinkled, thin-skinned hand for me to shake. Despite the way I behave most of the time, I do actually have manners, so I reach out to grasp it in a firm handshake. However, my gaze catches on the signet ring sitting snugly on his pinky finger.
Or, more specifically, the snake and crown emblem engraved into it—the insignia of the King’s Elite.
Given what little information I have about the King’s Elite, I highly doubt it’s some class graduation ring that he’s all sentimental over. The King’s Elite are a hell of a lot more than some secretive college club that men like my grandfather look back on with fond memories. However, that ring doesn’t mean he’s an active member of the society. Although, it has me wondering how high up in the ranks you have to be before you’re rewarded with a gold ring. I certainly don’t recall finding one at the bottom of my glass of blood at the inauguration.
“Frederick, I’ll take lunch out here today,” he says to the butler, who was doing a wonderful impression of blending in with the furniture. “My grandson will be joining me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
* * *
My head isall over the place as I step into the brownstone and make my way up to my bedroom. The rest of my visit was uneventful. Grandfather mostly talked about himself, his work before he retired, and the massive wealth he has acquired. Dotted in amongst all that were questions about me—how I was enjoying Ridgeway, what my plans were after graduation. He definitely wasn’t impressed when I didn’t spout off some in-depth five-year plan that ended with me being made partner in a law firm, building my own investment management empire, or becoming CEO of some Fortune 500 company.
Yeah, I’m honestly surprised my ‘I haven’t thought that far ahead’answer didn’t give him heart palpitations based on his affronted expression.
Throughout the whole afternoon, he never once mentioned the King’s Elite, despite the fact it was a hurdle I had to overcome in order to meet him. Another topic that seemed to be off-limits was my father. Any time I tried to ask him what happened twenty-odd years ago that resulted in my father being kicked out of the family and me along with him, he would change the topic.
Even though I’m not sure he was terribly impressed with me, he invited me back for lunch next Sunday to meet the rest of the family. I said yes because, well, what else was I supposed to say? So far, I haven’t gotten the warm and fuzzies, or thethis is where I belongvibe. Although, perhaps next weekend will yield better results.
All thoughts of my grandfather are pushed aside as I walk into my bedroom and pull up short.
"What are you doing in here?" I ask, narrowing my eyes on Emilia as she spins to face me.
My eyes drop to the white envelope in her hands, my nostrils flaring.
Goddammit. I lifted the damn letter out after I put Emilia in her bed last night and forgot to put it away.I don’t even know why I held on to it all these years. I should have tossed it in the trash the second I found it on my bedroom floor at Pac. Instead, I’ve carried it around just to torment myself, never actually reading what is written inside.
With pursed lips, I snap my gaze up to her face. Hurt flashes in her eyes.
“You never even opened it,” she accuses, that same hurt bleeding into her tone.
"I told you, I didn’t need to hear—or read—your apologies."
She holds the envelope out toward me. "Read it."
“No,” I growl, not taking it from her outstretched hand.
She glowers at me for a long moment, the two of us in a silent standoff. Eventually, she huffs out a frustrated breath and lowers her arm.
"Maybe you didn’t need my apologies then, but I think you need them now, because you’re the only one still holding onto the past." Hesitantly, she steps toward me, her eyes searching mine—although for what, I’m not sure. Her face scrunches, pain and heartache lining the crevices. "It physically pains me to see how much I hurt you." Her words are followed by another step forward, steadily closing the distance between us. "That was never my intention. I never wanted either of us to suffer like this."
"Emilia," I groan as she takes another step forward. I could easily reach out and pull her against me, and my arms tremble with the urge to do just that. "Stop."
She shakes her head. "I need you to hear me this time, Wilder. I need you to accept what I’m telling you because, as much as we might want to, there’s no changing the past. There’s no undoing what was done. However, the hurt can stop right here, right now.Youhave the power to make it stop. For both of us."
Brazenly, she reaches out and places her hand over the erratically thumping organ in my chest. That single point of contact breaks my resolve, and in a whirl of movement, I grab her and spin us, pushing her against the wall and caging her in.
My forearm is pressed against the wall above her head, my other hand sliding easily around her throat as though it belongs there. My thumb rubs over her pulse point as I stare down into her jade-green eyes, wide with shock.
“I don’t need your apologies,” I growl, “You never had anything to apologize for.”
