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The silence stretches. Declan continues to glower. I open my mouth, then shut it. What am I going to say anyway? That I’m sorry for what I did? Is it going to make a difference, at all?
I take a sip of my ice water, then glance at the bottle of wine with longing. Now is the time I could do with something more to shore up my courage. But I’ve never drunk alcohol before. My mother and brother forbid it—except for the occasional family celebration where everyone received a few sips to join the toast. And let’s face it, it made the gatherings more bearable. Even then, I sometimes found myself getting a little tipsy from those mouthfuls. So, I’m not sure now is the time I want to start drinking; not when Declan is scowling at me from across the table.
"Are you really engaged to Olivia?" I venture.
"What do you care?" he growls. A vein pops at his temple. The muscles below his jawline flex and, good god, if he grits his teeth any harder, he’s going to crack a molar.
The tension between us ratchets up. The air is so thick with unsaid emotions, it seems to press down on my chest. Sweat pools under my armpits. My nerves are so stretched, my teeth are so on edge, I’m going to scream any moment. I squeeze my fingers together in my lap , "That’s not fair. You know I did care about you."
"We hardly knew each other. We met, what was it, once?"
"Twice."
"Oh, yes, the second time is when you told your brother that you didn’t know me, and I had broken into your room with a view to hurting you."
I flinch. "Don’t say that, please."
"It’s true, isn’t it? That’s what you told him—that I was forcing you against your will."
"I didn’t mean it."
"Sure you did," he leans forward in his chair. "I was beaten up so badly by your brother’s men, I needed twenty stitches and reconstructive surgery on my face to revise the worst of what the blemish left behind. Not to mention, the broken ribs, a sprained neck, a cracked femur and the broken ankle I sustained. I was in the hospital for weeks, then needed physical therapy for months to regain full movement."
I flick my gaze up to the scar on his face, then back at him. "I’m so sorry, Declan. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I saw my brother and was so afraid he’d be angry at me. If he knew that I was willingly kissing you, there’s no telling what he would have done to me."
"Instead, you decided you didn’t care what he and his henchmen did to me?" he snarls.
"I didn’t think he’d set his men on you—"
"Lies, all lies." He slaps his palm on the table and the plates jump. One of the forks slides off and hits the ground with a clash. I flinch again.
"Stop acting like you’re this innocent princess, when we both know that’s not true."
"I don’t know what you mean."
"Oh?" He bares his teeth. "You took off your top and came at me. You threw yourself at me. You begged me to k-k-k-kiss you, don’t you remember?"
Tears prick the backs of my eyes. My heart feels like it’s going to shatter. Is it because he’s mocking my stammer and how I begged him to place his lips on mine? Or is it because he’s nothing like the gentle, tender, protective man I remember? Physically, he’s so different. So much harder, so much more solid and inflexible and impenetrable. Even his face looks meaner, the scar adding a world-weariness and cynicism that wasn’t there. Is it because of what I did? Because I accused him of something he didn’t do? Because I was too afraid of my brother to bear the consequences of my actions? Because I couldn't bear the thought of more punishment? Because I couldn’t bear for my brother to think I was spoiled goods. Because I wanted to gain my family’s approval? My entire life has been dedicated to making them happy. So much so, I pushed away the only man I knew could have meant something to me.
"I was a kid. I got scared. I’m sorry I told him I didn’t know you. I panicked, okay?”
He draws in a breath, then runs his fingers through his hair. "I’m sorry I wasn’t around to help you out. What happened to me that day wasn't your fault. I knew you were a kid. I know a lot of what happened wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I came to your room. Me, a grown-ass man, and I came creeping into your room because I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. That was my mistake."
"No, it wasn’t. I’m glad you did. I would have been devastated if you’d left without seeing me one last time."
He lowers his hand, then places his fingertips together. "I’m not sure changing the trajectory of my career was worth it."
"Wh-what do you mean?"
"Thanks to this scar, which not even plastic surgery could remove completely, I couldn’t get leading man roles. It’s what brought Olivia and me together."
Of course. Olivia suffered an accident that inflicted a scar on her face. As a result, she, too, has struggled to find roles. And now, he’s engaged to her and—I glance up at him. "You didn’t answer my question."
"Not sure I owe you any answers," he drawls.
"You do, on this one." I hold his gaze, "Olivia… Are you really engaged to her?"
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