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I leaned my head back heavenward and took a deep breath. “You’re right. Thanks, Grams.” I smiled, even though I felt like curling into a ball and hiding underneath the covers on my bed.
She patted my face. “Go on. Fix your face. No sense in seeing him with your eyes all puffy and black.”
I washed my face and tossed my dark locks into a ponytail. I changed into an oversized, soft knit heather gray sweater over the top of my jeans. I felt like a wreck, but at least I looked more presentable now that I had cleaned myself up.
I walked downstairs with my feet insulated in fuzzy socks. The sound of Michael’s voice coming from the kitchen made my heart jump and the butterflies begin to dance. He was sitting, his back to me as I came in. My insides churned, and I felt like I might throw up.
I touched his shoulder as I passed him, letting him know I was here.
“Hey,” he said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat. He looked tired. Dark shadows sat heavy under his eyes. He hadn’t shaved in days, judging from the scruffiness of stubble that had grown in. He still looked sexy, but he looked like he needed at least a day’s worth of uninterrupted sleep.
Grams brought him a cup of coffee over, fixed just the way he liked it. He took a few quick sips and sat back with his eyes closed. “Thanks, Sophia. I can’t tell you how much I needed this.”
“By the looks of you . . .” She held up her hand. “No offense.”
“None taken.” He chuckled, took another sip. “It’s been a crazy couple of days.”
His laughter froze my blood. Was he happy? Had he been having a grand old time while I had been sitting here miserable? Images of him with other women, many other women, began flashing in my mind. My stomach clenched in revulsion, and I had to swallow the bile that was clawing its way up my throat. Even though I was mad, ice was running through my veins, freezing me to the core. I huddled into my sweater, tucked my hands into the sleeves, and folded them in my lap.
His dark eyes met mine, his face unsmiling and somber. “We need to talk.”
“I know.”
Grams waited for Pops to stand. “We’ll give you two some privacy.”
I secretly wished they would stay and be the armor I needed right now. The room that always brought me such warmth and comfort suddenly felt cold.
“I actually needed to talk to them,” he said as their footsteps faded away. “But I guessweshould talk first.”
My heart sank. He wasn’t here to talk tome, aboutus. He was here to talk business.
I felt the sensation of being at an interview—or on trial—me the guilty, him the judge and jury. His eyes were flat and hard, not anything like they were a few nights ago when I thought he was going to say those three little words. I had no idea how badly I wanted to hear them. Fromhim. I swallowed the huge lump, pleading with my tears to stay unshed.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know where exactly to begin,” I said at last, agony ripping at me from his obstinate silence.
“I’m shocked. Normally you have an arsenal of words at your disposal.”
I winced. Okay, I deserved that.
“Seriously, Siena. You know how to inflict the right amount of pain. And then twist the knife just enough to make sure I’m still suffering.”
He was right.
“You can’t continue to jump down my throat and berate me and accuse me of things that I didn’t do.”
“I know.” I was a small child sitting in the time-out chair being lectured by my lover. Everything he said was true. I couldn’t deny it. I couldn’t argue my way out of it.
“And to boot, you insulted everyone in my family. You have absolutely no right to say anything about them.”
I cast my eyes down. “I know,” I agreed again.
“How am I supposed to do this? Work like this when you think I’m such a piece of shit?”
My head snapped up. His words pierced me, immobilized my vocal cords. I couldn’t find the words I needed to say. I had so much I needed to tell him to apologize for, but I felt that all I would do is cry if I opened my mouth. All over again.
“Are you going to answer me?” His words sounded demanding, and I shrank even more into myself.
I willed my brain to work, tried to think of something eloquent to say, to explain how sorry I was, but intelligent words eluded me. “I’m an idiot, Michael,” I finally said. Simple, honest words. And wholeheartedly true. “I don’t know what else to say other than I’m so sorry for being such a giant fucking idiot.”
