But outside that, again, nothing from Blake.
“Blake, listen, ye wanted so badly to go to that little girl’s funeral, and you’d never even met her, and we hit socials with that?—”
Instantly, she uncurled her legs and reached to her shoes, Sorcha popping up to get out of her way.
“Blake?” he called.
He watched as she put on her heels.
“Blake,” he repeated.
She got up and walked from the room.
Sorcha was undecided for a moment, and then she followed Blake.
“Fuck,” he bit off and followed them both.
He found them in the kitchen with Blake’s head bent to her phone.
“I’d like an answer, love,” he informed her.
She shoved her phone in her back pocket and looked to him. “I have a car coming. I’ll wait for it outside.”
Wait one moment.
What?
She went to the boot room and collected her jacket.
He moved so he could see her through the doorway.
“We’re not done talking,” he pointed out.
“Oh, we’re done,” she said to the floor as she flicked her hair out from under the collar of her coat.
She commandeered the handle of her luggage that he’d left there and rolled it into the kitchen.
“Stop it, Blake. We’re in the middle of a discussion,” he clipped.
She grabbed her tote and moved to walk by him.
He caught her with an arm around her belly.
She looked up at him.
“Ye can’t get out of a difficult conversation by throwing a drama,” he warned.
And then it happened.
The mask she’d soldered onto her face cracked, Blake came through, and instantly, Dair realized his mistake.
“Let me go, Dair,” she whispered.
“Darling, we need to?—”
She started nodding, fast, and it seemed she couldn’t stop because she kept doing it even as she spoke.
“I get it. I didn’t know it until a few years ago, but Mum did the same thing to Dad that Signe did to you.”
