At some point I started leaning against the wall, raking a hand through my hair until it’s twisted like a bird’s nest.
Goddamn, how did that marriage last more than two years?
“Are you okay?” Margot asks carefully.
She walks up and lays a hand on my arm. Hesitantly, like she’s not sure if I want her touching me.
There’s nothing I want more.
That may be the scariest surprise today.
“I’m sorry you had to hear that. Daria can be… difficult sometimes.”
“Mm-hmm. How’d you guys meet? Just curious.”
I snort, winding my arms around her waist and pulling her closer. “You mean, you’re wondering how I was ever dumb enough to wind up with a woman who puts her own children last?”
“…am I that obvious?” She bats her eyes and tips her head back innocently. “She just doesn’t seem dedicated. Not like you, I guess, and that’s weird.”
“She’s not. I wish it were different. Not for my sake, but for the kids.” I find bare skin where her sweater rides up, and I run my fingers along it absently, tracing the waistband of her jeans until my fingers slip under the fabric. “It was a young marriage. Very young and incredibly stupid.”
“I guessed that. If you have a couple nine-year-olds at your age, I mean.”
“I’m over a decade older than you, duchess.”
“I know.” She doesn’t sound fazed by the age gap and she kisses my jaw. “But to have met her and married and had kids—that still makes you about twenty-seven when they were born?”
Yes, a fucking lifetime ago.
“Twenty-six,” I say. “One year older than you.”
She shrugs lightly. “I feel old sometimes, but also clueless. You’re way more grown-up with a family to look out for.”
“Yeah. Thought I knew everything there was to learn the day they were born. Like hell.” I rest my chin on top of her head, and she slides against me.
It’s insane how easy this feels, like we’ve been doing it for years instead of days.
“So what happened? How?” she whispers.
“It was practically arranged. I was young, fresh out of the Army, still at the height of my hockey career. Hell, if anything, the time overseas made me a hotter commodity. Everybody wanted Kane Saint. On paper, Daria was the perfect daughter of a family friend. She was vetted, future eye candy for the cameras.”
“Cameras?” She shakes herself. “Hockey, you mean?”
“Hockey, then politics. My father had it all mapped out, and I was too inexperienced to say no to it. He never went higher than his House seat in government and he wanted me to live his dream.”
“It’s hard to say no to that kind of pressure,” she says like she understands. Maybe she does, being a Blackthorn and all. “What did he want you to do?”
“Everything. Taking his old House seat and then sliding into the US Senate, for starters. After that… who knows? He wanted to be Joe Kennedy, only he just had one son to groom for office.” I laugh, but there’s a bitter edge to it. “I had a taste of that world early. Figured out fast I’d rather chew glass than go into politics and serve shady fucking interests, always lying through my teeth and pretending I work for anybody else.”
She takes a moment to digest it, her expression pensive in the faint light from the windows.
The sun set with the rain a while ago. Frogs and crickets fill the night with their songs.
“Were you married by the time you knew you didn’t want a political career?”
“Unfortunately.” I run my hand through her soft hair, absently rubbing it between my fingers. “Daria was with me for my status, my potential. Just like I was with her for pretty photos, and I guess my lack of ambition was the last straw.”
“I’m sorry.”
