I’m not as brave as I’d like to be once I get closer to my apartment door. I don’t even know why I care about what Knox thinks.
Why are you so afraid of his reaction, nut job?
I’m not, I tell myself. It doesn’t matter.
Knox’s truck isn’t parked outside and I don’t see him when I walk through the door, which is a relief. Maybe he went out for the night.
I’m going to take a shower, pour myself a glass of something alcoholic, and try to forget that this day ever happened.
I flick off my shoes and start lifting my shirt over my head as I walk toward the bedroom, but then I freeze with my arms mid air once I see Knox standing on my balcony. This time he’s dressed in nothing but a royal blue bath towel wrapped around his waist.
Good God.
His back is to me, but he knows I’m here. His hands are clenched around the iron railing and I watch in awe as the breadth of his back expands wider and wider with each deep breath he takes.
I quickly lower my arms and try adjusting my clothes when he slowly pivots on his bare feet to face me through the glass. The look on his face is hard to read. His expression is blank, but his eyes are wild and stormy.
He knows.
The balcony faces the front of the building. He’s probably been watching me the moment I got out of the Uber. I can see his brain working overtime as he takes an inventory of my appearance. He’s probably conjuring up the worst probable scenario of what he thinks happened to me.
Without thinking about what I’m doing, I walk forward, open the French doors and wrap my arms tightly around his waist. His body doesn’t tense like I thought it would because I may have only hugged him once in my entire life, but instead he exhales.
“What’s wrong, Gigi?” he asks carefully.
I press my lips together because I’m not sure what I’m going to say. The truth? A lie? Something in between the two?
Then his arms slowly wrap around my shoulders and I feel totally enveloped in warm muscle, skin, and protection.
“Tell me what happened,” he demands.
“You were sort of right.”
“About what?”
I squeeze him harder. I’m not sure if I should tell him. I don’t what to be held a hostage in my own house for the next six months.
“It’s all right, Queenie. I won’t be mad. Just tell me.”
A lone tear slides down my face, and I push my face into his chest.
“Ben is not who I thought he was.”
“Why? Did he touch you?”
“Not in the way you mean.”
“Did he put his hands on any part of your body, Gigi?”
“Just my arms.”
“Again? Like in the restaurant?”
“No, this time he was angry when he did it.”
“Angry about what?”
“He isn’t someone who’s been planted to get close to me.”
