She rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t say no. It’s a little on the nose, a little over the line considering our history, but that’s exactly how our humor is here in Northern Ireland. Hashtag Banter Boner.
“Why’d you do it?” She’s giving me whiplash at the change of direction, glancing over her shoulder like she’s willing the door to go again so she can get her beloved, freshly pressed orange juice.
“Hm?”
“Was the money really that good?” There’s a bitterness toher tone that tells me she’s back to the core issue, the reason she’s so angry at me, the fact I overturned the privacy wall between her family and the public.
It’s like she can’t rectify the two versions of me: the one she’s created in her head surrounding the drug investigation in her sport and the one making her laugh about orange juice on her would-be honeymoon. And she won’t let herself think about actually liking me while this giant elephant in the room lodges itself between us.
The money wasn’t actually that good, no. But that’s besides the point. I’m not telling her my reasons until we’re a little further down the line.
I hold my hand up. “How about this? How about you give me the benefit of the doubt for the duration of our public, fake relationship, and I’ll tell you my motivations for writing the article in a few weeks?”
“The benefit of the doubt,” she repeats the words, but from the hesitation in her voice, she’s saying them to herself. “That’s rich, coming from the man who makes a living twisting people’s truths for clicks.”
Ouch. I resist the urge to cover my heart with both hands to protect myself from her barbed words. I drove my car off a cliff and survived. I know real pain. My leg wasn’t the only injury I came away with. All of those wounds have healed over time, but somehow, the words she spits at me fucking hurt like a raw sore.
I open my mouth, but she’s already pressing forward.
“Tell me, Robert. Do you even remember the names of the people you hurt last time youtold a story? Or did you just file them under necessary collateral and move on?”
Wow. She’s off to the races now, isn’t she? So glad I asked for an armistice. The Good Friday Agreement went down better at the peace talks than my idea for her to give me the benefit of the doubt for a week.
Theair crackles between us. I flinch before I can stop myself.
Her chest rises and falls, too fast, and for a heartbeat she looks almost shocked at herself—then angry that sheis.
When I say nothing, she scoffs, a brittle sound. “Didn’t think so.”
“Careful, sweetheart. You’re not the first person to think you have me all figured out.” In reality, it’s worse than she can imagine based on what she knows.
I heave out a sigh. It seems I still have a ways to go before I gain the trust of my beloved rugby princess.
CHAPTER 18
Rhiannon
Robert has spent the day looking like I kicked his puppy. He’s been quiet and withdrawn. He even put his prosthesis on and went down to the pool for a while. To get away from me? Probably.
Not that I blame him. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to take them back. It’s one thing to think someone’s a deceitful arsehole; it’s quite another to say it to their face, especially with the level of venom I had in my words this morning.
I decided to text him and ask if he wanted to grab dinner together. If not, I’m ordering room service. I know I’m wasting a resort experience, but I have everything I need right here in the suite.AndI don’t have to bother talking to people.
Ugh. People are theworst.
I’ll let housekeeping in to turn the room over in a day or two, and I’ll probably hit up the pool downstairs a couple of times because it’s likely more refreshing than the stuffiness of our private hot tub, but for the most part, this is my idea of pure bliss. Hiding from the world and having people bring me delicious food while I doso.
George wasn’t good for much, but his choice of honeymoon definitely leaves little to be desired. My bougie absolute bastard of an ex’s sole redeeming quality: he could pick a location for a relaxing honeymoon. But couldn’t anyone? As long as they had time, patience, an internet browser or a travel agent…
Yeah, I’m giving him entirely too much credit. He probably couldn’t point to Croatia on a map.
The sharp pang of betrayal feels a little duller today, and my desire to cry myself into oblivion has lessened substantially.
The more I think about Isla, the more I realize she had become superfluous to my life without me realizing. Did I love her and enjoy her company? Sure, like I love the girls on my team who I don’t have much in common with. But Blá, Matthew, my sisters,theyare my inner circle. And while Isla might have started on the inside, she had inched further and further out.
Her actions show me that was the right call, and maybe she never deserved to be in there in the first place. But I don’t want to kill her as much as I want to kill that bastard George.
This is healing, right?
