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I wish I could talk to Avril now.
Nicolette spoke highly of her before I met her, and when I did, I wished I could spend more time with her.
My mother battled demons her whole life. She was coarse and abrasive and rarely showed kindness. But she was the only family I ever had, and she loved me in her own way.
I still miss her.
I blink in surprise when Avril turns to face Lyam’s house before she gets into her car. She’s strength and grace personified.
I watch as she kisses her fingertips and waves her hand toward the house.
Or is it… toward me?
Does she know, then?
Was that on purpose?
I pretend to catch the kiss in the air and place it onto my damp cheek.
I hate that I’m crying.
I hate the position I’m in.
I hate that I felt as if I had no choice.
The only warning I get is a series of clicks and sliding bolts that tell me he’s coming in. Ice pulses through my veins.
I stand with my back to him, still gazing down at the pathway. Pretending that my whole body doesn’t go rigid and my heart begin to pound when I feel him enter the room. I still don’t turn to look at him.
“Tears won’t sway me, you know.”
I close my eyes and steel myself to face him. To face whatever it is that comes next.
I wasn’t trying to gain his sympathy. I wasn’t even thinking about him.
But do I ever really stop thinking about Lyam?
“Look at me.”
I flinch at the sound of his voice. So cold. So harsh.
This isn’t a hill to die on. We’ll get there.
So I draw a deep breath and turn to face him.
Lyam stands in the doorway, leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest. The dim lighting makes it harder to see his eyes, but I know every crease and contour of his face. The harsh slash of his brow drawn over brooding eyes. The aristocratic turn of his nose, and his sensual mouth. He’s beautiful and cruel, like an angry god. He’s the epitome of tall, dark, handsome, and fucking pissed off.
Behind him, I hear the vague chatter of staff, footsteps, and the barely audible, faint sound of glasses clinking. I doubt he’s invited anyone to the house, so it makes me wonder how many members of staff he has here.
“Nicolette thought it smart to tell my mother you were here.”
Oh, did she? I’m surprised by this. My betrayal of their family put Nicolette’s sister in danger.
“Why?”
“I have no idea. Misplaced sympathy? Mercy?”
I don’t reply. I don’t know what to say to something like that anyway. If he thinks he needs to emphasize how little sympathy he has for me, he’s woefully mistaken.
