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“Get away from me.”
“Does that hurt enough or should I continue?” he taunts.
“Get out of my sight.”
Ryker moves away, his hands in the air like he’s surrendering. “The power of the truth, Mila. Never underestimate it.”
He throws my own words back in my face. They hit me hard.
I wanted to present a united front, a barricade so tight, Ryker or Debra could never infiltrate it. But there are too many cracks. Zane and I aren’t strong enough for this. He knows it and so do I. We were right to attempt to keep our relationship a secret from the enemy camp. We didn’t have enough time to fortify ourselves from this attack. We need more. More time. More kisses. More hugs. More talks. Just more.
I think the wind could blow and knock me over. Shocked doesn’t describe how I feel. Not even close.
Ryker continues, even though no one wants to hear another word he has to say. “Shortly thereafter, Zane had to leave the country, because that’s what he does. Leaving is his talent, in case you haven’t guessed.”
I turn my heated gaze on Ryker. “Then you arranged for us to meet? You’re such a hypocrite. Who stole from who?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, my dear. We met by chance. I knew I’d have to be careful when Zane found out about us. I knew he’d try to steal you from me.”
He’s lying, twisting the truth. It’shistalent.
My heart drops into my stomach and I feel physically ill. Am I a pawn caught in the middle of sibling rivalry? Looking back, my first meeting with Ryker seems calculated. Ridiculous business card and all. He was at the symphony meet and greet to check out the woman he thought his brother was obsessed with. He was never in love with me, falling or otherwise. I was something his brother desired, so he went after me. It explains his lukewarm behavior coupled with his unwillingness to let me go. I was just something to win.
The thing is, I can handle Ryker. I don’t care about him. He doesn’t matter to me.
But, Zane. What about Zane? He has the power to crush my soul.
Am I just a prize to be won?
The memory of the usher speaking to Zane after opening night at the symphony wanders through my mind, the way he patted Zane on the back, the way he mentioned how he never missed a show.
I assumed the usher meant he was attending shows long before I ever played for the symphony.
I swallow hard and shift from foot to foot, feeling shaken to the core, stunned to the very depths of my soul.
I can’t wrap my mind around this revelation. What does it mean? All this time, Zane knew who I was. He watched me play several times. He was mesmerized by me.
I don’t understand. Why didn’t he tell me? I thought we met for the first time that moment when I walked in on him in Ryker’s penthouse.
Then I remember the way he froze, the way he stared at me as though he was in shock.Frozen encounter.
At the time, I thought it was because I had walked into the penthouse unexpectedly. Now, the scene plays out in my mind very differently.
Zane’s face is a stony mask. He’s still watching me with an unwavering gaze, saying nothing.
“Defend yourself,” I say, pleading with him.
“Yes, Zane, defend yourself. Tell her you’re not a thief, that you haven’t taken a red cent from your father’s company. While you’re at it, explain why you haven’t been arrested yet. Mom’s in a tizzy over that one. But the doozy is your stalker-like behavior. Explain to us how you’re not a stalker. I’d love to hear that one, wouldn’t you, Mila? Go ahead, tell her how your behavior was completely normal and not weird at all. Tell her you weren’t staring at her like some lovesick puppy while she performed. Declare your innocence, Zane, I dare you. We’re waiting,” Ryker prods. “This is gonna be good, I can feel it in my bones.”
I hate the way he’s gloating. If he thinks he can win me back, he is sadly mistaken. He’s a poor excuse for a human being. Rotten to the core, every inch Debra’s son. He’s enjoying our pain, like it’s his lifeforce. He feeds off of it. I’ve never seen him so animated.
“Shut up, Ryker,” I say. Childish, maybe. But it feels darn good to say it.
He’s not fazed at all. Ryker pretends like he’s zipping up his mouth and throwing away the key. Like he’s twelve years old. His dark humor disgusts me. I don’t find this side of him amusing. I didn’t know he needed to be cruel to find his funny bone, as sarcastic as it is.
I turn my attention back to Zane. “Please.”
“I can’t,” is all Zane says.
