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“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. Not right now. Not while—” I heave a deep breath, trying to push down the wave of grief.
“Shit, Red. I’m sorry, okay. I’m not good at this. But hiding away in your room, pushing everyone away, it isn’t going to help.”
“I just want to be alone.”
“I found you sitting under an ice cold shower?—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” Elliot glares at me.
Turning my back on him, I march toward my bed and rip back the covers, climbing inside.
I can’t deal with him right now.
Or ever for that matter.
Because being close to him, having to look at his annoyingly handsome face only reminds me of everything I will never have. And it kills something inside me.
Ignoring him, I burrow under the covers, close my eyes, and murmur, “Turn the light off on your way out.”
* * *
Somewhere in my dreams, a door clicks shut.
Wait a minute, that wasn’t?—
I crack an eye open, searching the dimly lit room for?—
“You,” I breathe, my gaze landing on Elliot sitting in my desk chair with a pizza box in his lap.
“Yours is on the bed.”
The rich smell of tomato and garlic wafts through the room, making my stomach growl.
I can’t remember the last decent thing I ate—or kept down.
“You’re still here.”
“Got nowhere else to be.” He shrugs.
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“The state of your room would suggest otherwise.”
My stomach sinks at his cruel words. But maybe it’s a blessing in disguise, a reminder of who and what Elliot Eaton really is.
An Heir with no heart.
“Eat,” he orders.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I’m not fucking around, Red. You look like you’ve lost at least half a stone. You need to eat. Please,” he tacks on.
“Fine.” I sit up and snatch the pizza box up, grabbing a slice and methodically eating it.
