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“Not far.” She shrugs. “Just one or two states over. Iowa, maybe. I always thought it was pretty out there. But it doesn’t really matter where. Just far enough that we don’t have to see each other all the time. But not so far that we can't visit now and then.”
I grind my teeth. “You’ve got it all worked out, don’t you?”
“Ilarion—”
“No.”
“‘No’?” she repeats. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that your plan is short-sighted and idiotic. What happens if the baby looks exactly like me?”
“I’m willing to take that risk if it means preserving Cee’s feelings.” She shakes her head. “I’ve made my decision.”
“Then allow me to make mine,” I snarl. “When Celine has properly recovered, I’m going to sit her down and tell her the truth.”
Taylor’s eyes go wide. “No—”
“I’m going to end our engagement and allow her the opportunity to meet and marry a man who truly loves her the way that she deserves to be loved.”
“Please, Ilarion, don’t do this.”
“And under no fucking circumstances am I forfeiting the right to my own child,” I add in a menacing growl. “That isnothappening. If you want to move states, you go right ahead. But our baby is staying with me.”
“You can’t do that!”
I lean in. “Watch me.”
“My sister—”
“I don’t give a damn about your sister!” I shout before I can stop myself.
Her eyes cloud over for a moment. “I don’t care what you give a damn about.”
“Clearly.”
“The only thing I care about here is Celine. As long as she wants the marriage to continue—”
“She’s not going to want to marry me when she knows the truth.”
“Ilarion, please, you can’t tell her.”
“To protect you?”
“I’m not worried about me. I want to protect her!”
“You want to lie to her!” I exclaim. “What kind of fucking sister are you?” Hurt and doubt pool in her eyes, but I don’t give her a chance to respond. I grab her arm and haul her back to the Hummer. “Get the fuck inside and be quiet. We’re done talking.”
She’s quiet when I get into the driver’s seat and lock the doors. Tear after tear rolls down her cheek. It rips me apart inside to pretend I don’t notice.
“I don’t know what she ever saw in you,” she whispers hoarsely. “I don’t know what I saw in you.”
I don’t respond. There’s nothing to say, really—it’s a mystery to me, too. Voicing it out loud is just her way of inflicting the kind of agony I know she’s enduring.
Pain has a lot in common with misery.
They both love company.
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