“The racing?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re lucky.”
He stared at me. “Lucky?”
“That you found something you love enough to fight for.” I stared at my wine glass. “Not everyone gets that.”
I’d chosen psychology to escape Julian’s world, not because I loved it. Sure, I was good at it but, really it was the only path that got me out. And maybe that was enough.
Griffin studied me. “Are you saying you don’t love what you do?”
“Sometimes you do things because you have to. Not because you want to.”
He laughed and I almost cringed at the dismissive sound. “Come on, Violet. You’re not some tragic figure stuck in a life you didn’t choose. You and Julian—” He waved his hand. “You’ve got a good thing.”
“Right.” I bit down hard on my cheek. “Of course.”
“You’re lucky.” He leaned back against the cushions. “Some of us actually had to fight for scraps of support.”
Like I hadn’t spent years fighting for every scrap of freedom I had.
“You know what? I’m done.” I stood and headed for the kitchen.
Griffin blinked. “What?”
“I’m done. Goodnight, Griffin.”
“Wait. Did I say something?”
I didn’t answer and he scrambled to follow me. I ignored him and just rinsed my glass in the sink, trying not to give in to that totally reckless urge to smash it.
“What the hell just happened, Princess?”
“Nothing.” I dried my hands, not looking at him. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
“You’re pissed.”
“I’m not pissed.”
“You’re definitely pissed.” He leaned against the doorframe. “What did I do?”
I turned, meeting his eyes. “You didn’t do anything, Griffin. That’s the problem.”
His brow furrowed. “I don’t?—”
“Of course you don’t.” I pushed past him toward the stairs. “You never do.”
“Violet—”
But I was already taking the stairs two at a time.
I didn’t look back.
Let him stand there confused. Let him wonder what he’d said wrong.
Because explaining would mean admitting things I couldn’t admit. And Griffin had made it perfectly clear he wouldn’t believe me anyway.
