Over the next two weeks, we carve out fragile new patterns of cohabitation at the castle. It’s bizarre to have Chloe and Carter living with me again. We’ve shared the same roof before, but things feel different this time. They are different this time.
Chloe is sober, for one. Gone are the days of her night-owl antics — stumbling home at dawn in a sequined dress, her makeup smudged beneath dilated eyes. Now that the worst of her withdrawal symptoms have passed, most days she’s awake before I drag myself out of bed: doing yoga in the Gatehouse training center with Galizia, meditating on the floor of her suite surrounded by scented candles and ambient sounds, sipping tea in the library with Dr. Hess, the new psychologist she’s started seeing every afternoon.
Already, she’s smiling more. Eating more. Even laughing again. The circles under her eyes are fading day by day. There’s a healthy glow to her skin which, mere days ago, was wan with exhaustion. Her progress is startling in its suddenness.
I know it’s still too early to be entirely confident these lifestyle changes will stick, but I catch myself feeling cautiously optimistic. Or perhaps I’m simply more at ease having her here. Home. These gloomy castle corridors don’t feel so incredibly vast with the sound of Chloe’s laughter echoing down them.
Having my sister back in my life fills me with a remarkable sense of rightness — as though I’ve snapped fully awake after sleepwalking for months. I’ve felt more alive in the days since she returned than I did the entire span she was away. Maybe I’m the one who’s supposed to be helping her find equilibrium but, in reality, she’s doing the same for me.
Her brother is another story.
With Carter Thorne once again stalking the halls of Waterford Palace, I spend my days balanced on the edge of a dangerous fault line — acting as a pillar of strength for Chloe while my own foundation crumbles, brick by brick, beneath my feet.
I never knew it was possible to be so simultaneously drawn to and repelled by someone; to have their every nerve ending call to yours like there are magnets in their bloodstream specifically calibrated to either draw you in or shove you away, depending entirely on their mood.
Lately, that mood is decidedly dark — at least, around me. For Chloe, he puts on a mask of civility and brotherly concern. Not me, though.
I get the beast.
Stripped of any obligation to act polite, Carter does more scowling than speaking where I’m concerned. Whenever we find ourselves alone in the same room — be it the kitchen for a late-night snack or the library for a new book off the shelves or the hallway outside our adjacent suites — he shoots me the most withering of looks before pivoting on one heel and striding in the opposite direction. As though he can’t get away from me fast enough. As though my proximity is something to be avoided at all costs.
I watch him go in silent misery, paralyzed by my desperation to chase after him and the knowledge that doing so would be an unmitigated disaster.
He is not your beast to tame, Emilia. He never was.
Carter’s arctic chill is hardly warmer when other people are around to witness it. He may not physically remove himself from my presence while Chloe is in the room, but the waves of fury pouring off him are palpable — a never-ceasing tide of silent wrath. I let them wash over me without complaint, wishing his anger was enough to render my own attraction null and void. If disdain could cancel out desire, I’d have been cured of this ill-fated infatuation long ago.
I’m not sure how much longer I can endure the strange truce we’ve struck — it feels eggshell-thin, liable to crack apart at any moment. We are one conversation away from wreckage, and every day it’s getting harder and harder to shove down my words. I am choking on all the thoughts I’ve spent two weeks swallowing in his presence. I fear my windpipe will soon be so blocked, I won’t be able to breathe at all.
I almost wish he’d gone back to stay at Hightower; that Chloe hadn’t done her puppy-dog-eyes routine until he agreed to stay. Almost, but not really. Because the only thing worse than him being here, hating me, would be him not being here at all.
If this is the only version of him I can get… I’ll take it. I’ll take the beast.
I never expected Prince Charming from him, anyway.
“Hello?” A pillow sails into the side of my head with a thunk, jolting me back to reality. “Am I talking to myself here?”
“Sorry.” I shoot Chloe an apologetic look from my chair by the window. She’s sitting on her bed, painting her toenails a bright shade of aquamarine. “What were you saying?”
“I asked what you’re planning to wear tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? To open the Parliamentary session?” My nose wrinkles with distaste. “Probably an ugly pantsuit or something else suitably dignified…”
“God no.” She snorts. “Tomorrow night. To that charity auction in Frenburg — the one benefiting the victims of the Vasgaard Square bombing. All of Germanian society will be there.” Her head tilts. “You are going, aren’t you?”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
Truth be told, without Caulfield here to pressure me about making more public appearances, I haven’t even entertained the thought of leaving the castle. I’ve been too focused on Chloe’s recovery to contemplate much else. Tomorrow morning’s visit to Parliament is the only planned exception to my isolation.
Each month, it’s customary for the reigning monarch to open a session of government with the ceremonial oath, listen to the ministers propose and vote on different bills, and sign those that pass into official law. The practice is known as royal assent, according to the history texts I’ve been studying and, as far as I can tell, it’s mostly a formality. A sovereign hasn’t withheld their stamp of approval on any law in over a century.
Perhaps the anti-monarchists are onto something: it seems I’m nothing but a figurehead after all. The ministers in Parliament appear to be the only ones with true power in this kingdom.
Just the thought of spending my day tomorrow in the grand halls of the National Assembly, surrounded by stuffy old men in powdered white wigs, trying to keep my eyes open as they drone on about amendments and addendums, is painful enough to make me consider abdicating my crown.
“I think we should go to the auction,” Chloe announces decidedly. “I already asked the staff to bring some dress options by later tonight. We can try them all on, do a full fashion montage like we’re in a cheesy romantic comedy. Maybe put on some girly music and sing pop ballads into our hairbrushes, for the full effect… Doesn’t that sound fun? In a lame, sober, preteen girl kind of way, I’ll grant you. But still fun, right?”
My heart pangs. “Chloe.”
“Mmm?”
“Isn’t it a bit soon for you to be…”
“What?” Her red brows arch skeptically. “Out of confinement at the castle? Surrounded by temptation in the form of an open bar in a ballroom full of fellow overdressed, overmedicated elites?”
“Your words, not mine.”
She sighs deeply. “Your concern is noted and appreciated, E. But isolation isn’t my style. I don’t think spending a few hours outside these walls, interacting with people other than you, my overbearing older brother, and my shrink would be the worst thing in the world. It would probably be good for me, actually.”
“Speaking of your shrink, what does Dr. Hess think about this proposed field trip?”
“She’s surprisingly onboard. She thinks it would be a good way to — and I quote — test the waters of my newfound sobriety in a familiar environment of temptation.”
I hesitate, chewing my bottom lip worriedly. On the one hand, what Chloe is saying makes sense. She’s been doing so well here. I want to trust that she’s ready to extend that progress into new settings. But I’m also terrified the minute she steps outside the palace gates, she’s going to fall off the wagon… straight onto the floor of some club in a drugged-out stupor.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she murmurs, screwing the top back onto the bottle of polish. “You don’t think I’m strong enough to handle it. You doubt I’m actually serious about staying sober. But this time… God, I don’t know how to explain it, things just feel different. Maybe because I actually want them to be different. I actually want to change.”
“It’s not that I doubt you or your capabilities, Chloe. I just think it’s a little soon. You’ve been doing so well. Why rock the boat?”
“Staying in control here, surrounded by babysitters? That’s not difficult, E. I need to show that I can stay sober without constant supervision, outside this protective bubble.” A pleading note creeps into her voice. “I need to prove to myself that I’m stronger than my addiction. To prove that being an addict doesn’t define who I am.”
I suck in a breath. An addict. I’ve never heard her refer to herself in those terms before. She’s always downplayed her issues, laughed off our concerns about her frequent drug use with a pithy comment or a wave of her wrist. The fact that she’s actually acknowledging her own demons is such a leap from where she was mere weeks ago, it’s hard to wrap my mind around it.
“Please, E,” she murmurs. “Give me a chance.”
I can see how sincere she is. The intent look on her face, the fragile hope she’s not fully managing to conceal. This is an important step for her. Maybe not one I’m entirely comfortable with… but one she needs to take in order to move forward.
Squaring my shoulders, I take a deep breath and fix her with a stern look. “You’ll stick with me or Galizia the entire time we’re at the auction.”
“Consider me Elmer’s, baby — I’ll be like glue.”
“And I want to talk to Dr. Hess before we go.”
“Chat away.”
“And we’re not staying late.”
“Curfew accepted.”
My lips twist. I’ve never heard Chloe so agreeable about anything, let alone voluntarily attending a Germanian social function. “You’re really serious about this, huh?”
“I really am.”
“Then toss me that nail polish.”
“Why? Planning to stir up another social media storm with an unauthorized royal manicure?” Chloe smirks as she slides off the bed and crosses to hand me the small bottle. “You little rebel.”
“I’m not a rebel.” I roll my eyes. “And it’s not about creating chaos on Twitter. I just…”
“Don’t want to be controlled by some archaic, arbitrary rules you have no say in?” Her voice is wry. “Trust me, I get it. I’m all for it. In fact, if I were you, I’d take it even further.”
My brows go up. “Meaning?”
Eyes narrowed, she reaches out and takes a loose lock of my hair between two fingers. The glossy mahogany strands catch the light as she twirls them lightly.
“How much do you trust me?”
Two hours later, I gasp at myself in the vanity mirror. Reaching up, I touch my hair to make sure I’m not hallucinating.
“See? Told you it would be badass,” Chloe says happily, her face appearing next to mine in the reflection. “You like it, right?”
I turn my head to better see the results of her handiwork. Most of my hair was left untouched; it’s the same deep brown shade it was this morning. But now, framing the left side of my face, there’s one long streak of deep purple running from my roots to the ends — a vivid pop of color amidst my glossy curls. Seeing it there inspires an irrepressible smile.
“I love it,” I tell her, meaning it. “It’s absolutely perfect.”
“You do realize half the world is going to lose their shit over this, right?”
I shrug. “Then I guess they’re lucky they didn’t meet me six months ago, when my whole head was lavender.”
“Oh, I remember.”
“If my appearance is more important to them than my actions as their queen, I think we have bigger problems at hand.”
“Damn straight. I’d normally pop some champagne to celebrate your newfound independence, but seeing as I’m not allowed to drink…” She raises an imaginary glass in my direction. “Cheers to not letting them define you, E.”
I lift my empty hand in return and murmur, “To reclaiming the pieces.”
Her nose scrunches. “What? What does that mean? What pieces?”
I shrug lightly, unable to explain without opening a very messy can of worms. But in my head, I hear his voice so clearly — whispering words that have gotten me through more dark nights than I’d ever care to count.
You don’t like people tearing pieces of you away, replacing them with traits of their own design? Then take your pieces back. Remake yourself. And when you do, make sure you use more than staples and glue. Use iron and blood and stone. Use something so strong, they can’t break you apart ever again.
Blinking away sudden tears, I paste on a smile and turn fully toward Chloe. “Thank you. Really, the hair is perfect.”
“My pleasure. Nothing pleases me more than scandalizing stodgy members of the Germanian aristocracy. I’m glad I can continue the practice even in my sobriety.”
“Speaking of snobby aristocrats…”
Her brows lift.
“I’m almost afraid to ask, but… have you heard from your mother, lately? I know she went abroad after Linus died. I haven’t heard a peep since, though. It’s suspiciously quiet.”
Chloe winces. “Ugh, E! Our don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy concerning Octavia was going so well…”
“Trust me, I don’t want to talk about the woman either. She’s not exactly my favorite person on the planet. In fact, she might be my least favorite person on the planet. But she’s still your mother.”
“Your point being?”
“My point being… Do you think she might want to know how you’re doing… where you’re living… about your sobriety…”
“Does a cat who tries to suffocate her kittens give a shit when they’re resuscitated?”
I sigh deeply. “Have you discussed this with Dr. Hess?”
“My mommy issues? Yes. At length.”
“And?”
“And Dr. Hess thinks I should try writing her a letter. She says I don’t have to actually send it. But just the act of writing down all the shit I’d like to say to Octavia after so many years of manipulation and emotional blackmail will apparently help me let go of some of my anger toward her.”
“Sounds like a productive idea.”
“Sounds like psychobabble bullshit.”
“As someone with a psychology degree, I take offense at the term psychobabble.”
“Noted.” Chloe narrows her eyes at me. “I’m still confused why you’d ever encourage me to reach out to my mother, though. You, of all people, should hate her. She’s been nothing but terrible to you since the moment you showed up in our lives.”
“True enough. But I also know that relationships between parents and their children are never black and white. It’s all gray. Just look at me and Linus. We never really got the chance to know each other. Now, we never will. When he was alive, I had so much anger and resentment toward him for not being the perfect father… for not being any sort of father… But now he’s gone — and so is my anger. All I feel is regret.”
“This is Octavia we’re talking about, though. Octavia. You really think she’s someone who can be redeemed? Someone who’ll suddenly stop being a monstrous bitch after twenty-two years of mistreatment, simply because I send her a lame letter?”
“Of course not.” I snort at the preposterous idea. “I’m just saying, rage can be blinding — it can overpower more nuanced feelings, to the point that you never actually process them. Being angry at someone doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed feel anything else toward them.You can hate your mother and still be sad about the state of your relationship with her. You can loathe her and still long for a different sort of bond. You’re entitled to mourn the hole someone’s left in your life, even if that person isn’t worthy of filling it.”
She stares at me for a beat. “You know, for someone with such a high emotional intelligence quotient, you’re remarkably obtuse when it comes to your own relationships.”
“I just told you, I wish I’d dealt with my anger at Linus better—”
“I’m not talking about Linus.”
I blink slowly, feeling my pulse spike. If she’s not talking about my father, then… who? Chloe doesn’t know about my relationship with Carter. Not officially, anyway. She may suspect a certain level of attraction — of unrequited love, as she accused Carter the night we dragged her out of the club. If her insight extends beyond that… We’ve certainly never discussed it.
How could we?
This isn’t some typical schoolgirl crush two sisters giggle over during a sleepover. My love story doesn’t follow generic patterns of courtship.
Girl meets boy.
Girl falls for boy.
Girl lives happily ever after.
Even if the boy in question wasn’t her closest blood relation… A torrid tryst with your stepbrother is simply not the kind of secret you share. Not even with the people you trust most. Not if you want it to stay a secret for long.
I know full well that if Carter and I were ever found out, it would be a scandal epic enough to rock the royal household. The fallout — from the press, from the public — would be unimaginable. I can see the headlines already, one long parade of humiliation in bolded font.
STEPBROTHER BOMBSHELL! INSIDE QUEEN EMILIA’S INCESTUOUS LOVE AFFAIR
THORNE IN HER SIDE: EMILIA’S ROYAL TRANSGRESSIONS REVEALED!
OH BROTHER! READ THE SCOOP FROM AN INSIDE SOURCE ON PAGE 4
I swallow hard, attempting to banish the thoughts. “Chloe…”
“You can talk to me, you know. About anything.” Her voice is soft, unassuming. Her eyes are bright with sincerity. “I wouldn’t ever judge you, Emilia.”
My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
Does she know?
Before I can ask, there’s a polite knock on the door to her suite as three seamstresses bustle in bearing a rack of designer dresses. The moment is lost, slipping through our fingers like silk.
But as we laugh and joke over different outfit options for tomorrow night’s event, I can’t quite forget the awareness I saw in Chloe’s eyes. And I can’t stop wondering whether my closest-guarded secret… isn’t such a secret anymore.
After we decide on dresses — a lavender cape-dress for me, a black strapless sheath for Chloe — we make a big bowl of popcorn and put on a scary movie, reclined back against the headboard of her bed. By the third act, we’ve both got pillows pressed against our faces, half-hiding our eyes whenever the music starts to crescendo.
The suspense is just reaching its climax — the deformed man with the chainsaw is about three seconds away from massacring the heroine — when the door to Chloe’s suite swings open unexpectedly.
Bam!
It hits the wall with a terrifying bang that shaves several years off my life. Chloe and I both let out bloodcurdling screams. The popcorn bowl goes flying, scattering kernels across her bedspread. When the lights flip on, we’re practically cowering in fear — heads cradled in our arms, braced for the chainsaw-wielding maniac who is no doubt about to hack us to bits.
“Bad time?”
The male voice is amused.
Peeking out from the gaps between my fingers, my face contorts into a scowl as I see it is not, in fact, a psycho-killer here to inflict damage on my body.
Just a lady-killer, here to inflict damage on my heart.
“Asshole,” Chloe mutters, scrambling for the pause button on the remote. The TV screen freeze-frames on a particularly bloody scene. “You totally did that on purpose.”
Carter strides into the room looking uncharacteristically formal. He’s wearing a suit and his hair is styled back in a way that accentuates the sharp angles of his face. “Actually, I’m just getting back from a meeting. I was swinging by to say goodnight. Scaring the shit out of you was no more than a happy side-effect.”
“We weren’t that scared,” I grumble, scooping handfuls of popcorn back into the bowl.
He scoffs. “Sure. Okay. Let’s go with that.”
“Another meeting?” Chloe pins her brother with a curious stare. “That’s, like, your third one this week.”
“Fourth.”
My brows go up. I want to pepper him with questions about what he’s doing in his spare time that requires so many meetings… but I have a feeling any curiosity that comes from me will be met with instant resistance. Better to let Chloe wheedle information out of him.
“Are you ever going to tell us what this new business venture of yours actually entails?” she asks pointedly. “Or am I supposed to start guessing trades?”
“Doesn’t seem like the most productive use of your time, but if you want to start guessing… have at it, sister.”
She glares at him. “Pigheaded bastard.”
“Pushy brat,” he volleys back.
“Prick!”
“Priss.”
“Playboy.”
“Pill-popper.”
“Recently reformed!” She wags a stern finger at him. “Don’t make me force the information out of you, brother. I know all your dirty laundry. Every skeleton you’re keeping in those Prada-stuffed closets of yours.”
“Blackmail? Really, Chloe?” He smirks. “Some thanks I get, after all I’ve done for you…”
“Don’t worry. I don’t plan on needing your help ever again.”
“Good. I might not always be around to bail you out of trouble.”
“What, are you going somewhere?” Chloe rolls her eyes at him. “Moving far, far away, unacceptably out of cell service when your one and only sister on the entire planet needs to reach you?”
Carter’s jaw clenches and he looks swiftly away.
“Oh my god!” Chloe pushes off the bed, onto her feet. “You’re not seriously thinking about leaving Vasgaard?”
He’s suspiciously silent.
“Leaving Germania?” Chloe gasps when she reads the affirmation on his face. “What the hell, Carter? Why would you do that?”
“I have my reasons,” he murmurs lowly. “The chance to launch a real career, for one.”
The chance to get away from Germania — and its queen — for another.
He doesn’t say it aloud, but the possibility bounces around inside my head anyway. My fist curls unintentionally around the handful of popcorn I’m holding, reducing it instantly to crumbs. I feel my world shift into slow motion, like someone’s turned down the dial that controls the earth’s centripetal force.
He’s leaving.
Actually leaving.
“The meetings I’ve been going to all week…” Carter shifts his weight from foot to foot. “They’re actually the second phase of a project I’ve been working on for a while now. If the investors come through and things go as planned… I’ll be moving to Switzerland.”
“Switzerland?!” Chloe explodes. “How could you not tell me about this sooner?”
Carter’s avoiding his sister’s eyes. And mine. “Nothing’s final yet.”
“Final or not — you should’ve told me!”
“The past three months… you haven’t exactly been chatty, Chloe,” he points out. “And since you’ve gotten clean, you’ve been doing so well… I hesitated to derail your progress with news that might upset you.”
“But why would you leave? This is our home.”
“I don’t have a home anymore, Chloe. I guess I never really did.” He laughs, but there’s no amusement in the sound. “Linus was the Duke. He was our link to Hightower. And now he’s dead. We’ve been staying there with royal generosity—” His eyes flicker to mine for the briefest of moments. “—but we cannot continue to count on that.”
My mouth opens. “But—”
He cuts me off. “I have no title. I have nothing except my own hands to make a name for myself. With the inheritance Linus left me in his will… for the first time, I have a chance to carve out my own path. To make the name Thorne mean something.”
“It already means something!” Chloe protests.
“Right — the royal hangers-on. The freeloading family that attached itself to the crown like those suckerfish on the underbelly of a shark.” Carter’s words are scathing. “I will not continue our mother’s tradition of leeching off the Lancasters for my entire life, Chloe. I can’t.”
“Fine! Whatever!” Her hands lift in surrender. “But you don’t have to leave the country to do that.”
He cranes his neck and glances at the ceiling, trying to keep his cool. “I know you don’t want me to leave. But can’t you understand? You’re stepping out from the shadow of who you used to be. It’s time I do as well. Past time.”
She falls silent.
“You can stay at Hightower,” I interject, struggling to keep the plea out of my voice. “As long as you want. As far as I’m concerned, it’s your home—”
“No.”
“Here, then,” I offer recklessly, unable to hold back.
Carter’s jaw ticks with tension. “Absolutely not.”
I bite my bottom lip to keep the rest of my pleas locked inside. My body feels tight as a bowstring, every muscle tense with the realization that nothing I say will make him stay.
He’s really leaving.
“Don’t be stubborn, big brother.” Chloe pouts at him. “Stay.”
“Chloe, I’m glad you’re back here at the castle. Truly. I’m glad you’ve found a place for yourself.” He sighs. “But now… I need you to let me find mine.”
“I just can’t believe you’d actually leave,” she whispers.
Suddenly, Carter’s looking right at me. I’m unprepared for the emotions blasting at me from his eyes; they hit me like a sucker punch. “Things change, Chloe. People change. Priorities change. I’m not going to stick around a place where there’s no future for me. Not anymore.”
My stomach sinks into my feet, heavy as a cannonball.
“No future for you? I call bullshit,” Chloe mutters. “I want to know what work opportunity is worth leaving me behind to go to Switzerland, of all places. God, didn’t you get enough during your boarding school years? How many milkmaids can you possibly nail before the allure wears off?”
Carter ignores the question, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “You act like I’m conspiring against you, Chloe. This isn’t personal. It’s—”
“Business?” I mutter darkly, unable to stop myself.
His eyes cut to mine, brow furrowed. He doesn’t say a word.
I scan his face, trying desperately to read his thoughts, but they’re indecipherable to me. Whatever he’s thinking, whatever he’s feeling right now… whether he’s actually serious about this new business endeavor that will take him out of the castle, out of Germania, out of my life…
It’s a total mystery.
“When would you go?” Chloe’s voice is thready. “How soon?”
He blows out a breath. “I’m not going anywhere yet. Not until…”
“Until you’re sure I’m on the sobriety train for good this time?” She snorts. “Don’t change your plans on my account. If you want to leave, by all means… go. I won’t be the reason you miss your shot at a Swiss bank account full of francs. Even if I do think you’ll miss me. And that leaving is idiotic. And that you’ll be bored in, like, three seconds if you actually get a real job like a responsible adult.”
“He’s already a responsible adult,” I blurt without thinking. “Having a job doesn’t make you responsible. Taking care of people when they need you, showing up for them when they’re falling apart — that’s what matters. That’s taking responsibility. Not a time clock or a pay stub.”
The air goes still. Everyone is caught off guard by what’s just come out of my mouth — me most of all. My cheeks feel suspiciously red as the words linger out there, unclaimed and uncontested. I don’t know what to say or where to look.
Say something.
Say anything.
But I can’t seem to find any more words. The thought of Carter moving away, of him being out of my life completely, is oddly paralyzing. It shouldn’t be. After all, I’ve spent the past three months without him.
If I’m honest with myself, though, in the back of my mind I always knew our paths would cross again. That, someday, we’d end up back here — our orbits overlapping once more. I never once considered he might remove himself permanently. That…
I might really lose him.
For good, this time.
“Right.” Chloe clears her throat a little awkwardly, finally breaking the silence. She plops down on the bed beside me. “See, Carter? Emilia doesn’t think you should abandon us for Switzerland, either.”
“Doesn’t she?” he asks, soft as a prayer. “I wasn’t aware she gave a fuck.”
“Of course I give a fuck,” I whisper, barely audible.
He scoffs. “News to me.”
My pulse is pounding at my temples, a mad tattoo. My heart is lodged inside my throat. I swallow uselessly against it and hope like hell my words come out even.
“As someone with very little say in her own future, I’m the last person who would ever suggest someone stay on a path they no longer want to be on.”
“So you think I should go?”
When he asks the question, I glance up to meet his eyes and find they’re locked on my face, studying my expression with rattling intensity.
“I think…” I drift off. My thoughts are at war, my heart a tangled mess of contradictory emotions. I know I should tell him to go; it would be better for both of us, in the long run. Having a healthy amount of distance between us. A national border, no less.
Go, I should say. Get away from this crazy life. Forge something new for yourself, with a girl who’s capable of loving you back the way you deserve to be loved. A normal girl who can walk with you in public, hold your hand, kiss your lips, go on dates.
But the words he spoke two weeks ago are still haunting me. Making me hesitate.
Maybe you should ask yourself why the thought of missing your shot at love doesn’t terrify you just as badly as losing the actual person you love.
If I continue holding him at arm’s length… if I push him away again… This time, he’s going to walk away. For good. And that knowledge is enough to make every atom in my body ache like I’ve been thrown down a flight of stairs.
“Emilia?” Chloe prompts.
I’d forgotten she was even here, I’m so thoroughly trapped in the tractor-beam of Carter’s eyes. The moment drags, fraught with tension. Every breath feels jagged-edged inside my lungs. Every second passes like a year.
“I think you should go,” I finally say in a cracking voice. “But I really hope that you don’t.”
He holds my eyes — one, two, three unending seconds — before his head swings toward the wall. I study the sharp line of his jaw, where a muscle is ticking rhythmically. After a moment, his Adam’s apple bobs with a rough swallow.
“I have another meeting early in the morning.” His words are as stiff as his strides as he turns for the hallway. “I’ll say goodnight now.”
“Don’t forget the charity auction tomorrow!” Chloe calls after him as he shuts the door firmly. In the silence that follows, I take my first clear breath in minutes.
“He could’ve at least stayed for the rest of the movie,” Chloe grumbles. “Especially if he’s leaving the country.” She elbows me sharply in the side. “Hey, you don’t really think he’s serious about going, do you?”
“He sounded serious.”
“We need to convince him to stay. I’ll appeal to his emotional side — play the I’m-still-in-recovery-and-need-you-with-me card. You can use logic. Maybe point out—”
“No.” I swallow. “I don’t think I’m the right person to convince your brother of anything, Chloe.”
She pauses for a long time. “Or… maybe you’re the only person who can. Maybe it’s not my love that he’ll stay for. Maybe it’s yours.”
I suck in a breath.
There it is.
She knows.
She definitely knows.
Tears fill my eyes as I reach out and grab the remote. Before she can say another word, I jam my finger against the play button. I’d rather watch gory chainsaw massacres than discuss the multitude of ways my heart is breaking right now.
“Let’s just watch the movie. Okay?”
If she hears how choked-up my voice is, she doesn’t comment on it. But a second later, her head lands on my shoulder and she snuggles against my side.
“Okay, E. Okay.”