“I don’t trust her,” Whit said, moving away from me.
“You’ve made that clear.”
He held himself at the other side of the bed, his gaze still averted from mine. Our first real disagreement as a married couple. I wondered how we’d weather it. My parents had rarely fought, had rarely even disagreed. I didn’t know how to navigate this territory. But I knew I cared enough to see it through to the end.
“Come here, Whit.”
His head jerked up. He came closer, warily, as if he thought I’d run if I had the chance. When he stood in front of me, I pressed the flats of my hands on his chest.
“I don’t have a lot of family,” I said softly. “And I believe Isadora, Whit.”
He covered one of my hands with his own, and his expression turned contemplative. He didn’t seem to agree with me, and I bristled. I tried pulling away, but he held on.
“I know I haven’t shown great judgment,” I said. “But it would mean a lot to me if you gave her a chance.”
“Are you talking about your mother?” Whit asked, squeezing my hand. “Are you still feeling guilty about what happened on Philae?”
“No matter how I look at it, it still feels like my fault. It was my naivete that ensured my mother’s success.”
“She was manipulating you,” Whit said. “And using your emotions and love for her against you. In no way should you blame yourself for wanting to believe your mother had your best interests at heart.”
I nodded slowly. “Fine, but then you can’t have it both ways.” I stepped forward, tilted my chin up to better meet his eyes. “Isadora was surprised and caught off guard. Just like I was. Her father’s actions don’t automatically make her complicit.”
“Iknewyou were going to say that,” Whit muttered. “Here, I was thinking I was comforting my wife while you were preparing an argument against me.”
“I’m not against you,” I said. “I’m only asking that you give her a chance.”
Whit stiffened, the line of his shoulders tightening. He let out a long, annoyed sigh.
I reached up and, with the tips of my fingers, brushed along his jaw. “She’s alone and needs help—”
“I don’t want to talk about Isadora,” he cut in. “I don’t want to talk at all.”
Then he dropped his hand to my waist and tugged me closer. I slipped my arms around his neck and I rose onto my tiptoes and kissed him. He groaned against my mouth. He swept his tongue across mine, and I shivered, my fingers playing with the hair at his nape. Whit lifted me off my feet and slanted his mouth, deepening the kiss. When we parted, both our breaths came out in ragged huffs.
Whit pressed his forehead against mine. “Did you think of me while I was gone?”
I breathed in his scent and nodded. “Did you?”
“You crossed my mind.”
I tugged hard on his hair, and he laughed before releasing me. He led me to the bed, the only place to sit, and we settled onto it, side by side. My feet barely reached the floor, while his long legs stretched out. His thighs were muscular, and I gulped, remembering how he’d looked hovering above me, soft shadows flickering across his face.
“Why are you blushing?” he asked, peering at me with a faint smile.
“No reason,” I said quickly.
“Tell me,” he coaxed, leaning forward, a warm glint shining from his blue eyes.
“I can’t believe you haven’t asked me what I found in my uncle’s room.”
Whit arched a brow. “What have you found?”
I jumped up, and his soft chuckle made me blush harder. But his smile faded when I handed him my mother’s journal.
“I’ve seen this before,” he murmured. “This belonged to Lourdes. I caught her writing in it right before they disappeared.” He flipped through the pages.
“It’s mostly all lies,” I said. “But curiously, my uncle kept it hidden in his pillowcase.”
