Marlow’s utter surprise at seeing me had been intriguing on its own. A gentle nudge toward something I hadn’t yet made the link to.
Now, though, I was starting to see why me staying here was such a big deal.
When was the last time Silas had someone spend the night?
Or longer than a few hours before he got too overwhelmed and kicked them out and plunged himself into further loneliness?
“My parents decorated the place,” he finally said after a moment. His arm slipped out from under me—the spot growing instantly cold—and he rolled onto his back. Both arms raised over his head, a long exhale leaving him while he stretched. “I didn’t have the heart to replace anything.”
“Oh.” Guilt ripped through me. Of course... of course he would keep the house the way that it was in their memory—honoring them in his own quiet way. “I’m so sorry.”
His brow lifted, his head turning on the pillow to face me. “For?”
“Y... you know.”
Here I was, criticizing him for shutting everyone out, when it was his way of coping with a profound loss. Trying to deal with his grief in the only way he knew how to, by burying himself in work and never allowing for something else, or someone, to fill in the emptiness left behind in their wake.
“I don’t, actually.”
Was he actually going to force me to say it?
“B-because they’ve... passed on and all.”
To my surprise, he tilted his head back on the pillow and laughed.
The sound was deep and unrestrained, vibrating through the quiet room and catching me so off guard that I blinked in confusion. It wasn’t the reaction I expected—far from it, actually, and had me sitting up slightly while I leaned on my elbow to stare at him.
What did I say?
My embarrassment was quickly being replaced by bewilderment. “What’s so funny? I’m being serious.”
Silas shook his head, his hand coming up to rub at his face as his laughter subsided into a faint chuckle. “I can see that.”
“You just told me you didn’t have the heart to change anything! How else was I supposed to take that?”
This fucking man.
Who worded things like that?
“Already writing my tragic backstory.” He slipped his hand around my arm, pulling me over until I was half lying across him. He tugged one of my legs up to fold over his waist, my soft cock pinned against his hip. “I haven’t changed anything because it would be a pain in the ass to send all of their shit to Germany. Where they currently live.”
Oh my fucking God. And here I was feeling bad for him.
“You have the money to hire movers.”
“I hate strangers in my house.”
“I’ma stranger in your house,” I countered.
“You’ve already been here.”
I blinked again, caught off guard by his reply. So casual, like this wasn’t the second time I’d been here but one of many. Like I’d become some staple fixture here.
I tried to not let that go to my head.
Silas exhaled, his gaze drifting up toward the ceiling. “My parents aren’t dead. We have a fine relationship, for the most part.”
A pang of something sharp and heavy twisted in my gut at that, at the weight that his words suddenly carried. “Silas...”
