I shove a forkful of noodles in my mouth and look up at her.Fuck. I hate Lilly’s tears.
Mother.
Fucker.
Inwardly groaning, I look away. No, don’t let that fucking affect you. It’s one lonely tear, it will not crumple your facade of indifference. She’s probably just missing her boy toy. Focus on what you need to focus on, getting healthy and figuring out who’s behind this.
I take a sip of my water, but my eyes land on her again, just in time for her to wipe a tear off her cheek.
Goddammit.
I clench my jaw, and not able to stop myself, I ask, “Why are you crying?”
“None of your business,” she shoots back, turning away from me.
“You are my business,” I say to her.
“Oh fuck off, Keller.” More tears stream down her cheeks. “You can’t say shit like that to me anymore. You don’t have the right.”
“If you’re the future queen of my country, you will always be my business.”
“No, matters of the crown are your business, my personal feelings are not.”
She sets her bowl of food on the table and moves out to the beach where she sits on the sand, pulling her knees into her chest.
It’s dark. The moon reflects off the ocean in front of her, and the porch light illuminates her back so I can keep an eye on her as she finds some peace . . . from me.
I grip my jaw and drag my hand down.
Fuck.
Why did I think this would be easy?
Fucking naive thinking. That’s what it was.
There’s so much anger, so much hostility between us.
We might have pretended everything would be fine before the wedding, but we were both angry and frustrated in our own rights. And now, that anger and hostility has just grown exponentially. I want to scream the wordsI never would have left you by choice. I love you.But I can also barely fucking look at her because while I was barely surviving, she was moving on.
Looks like Theo was wrong. Lilly couldandwould stay in Torskethorpe without me.To think I could have walked away like I’d first suggested.Would my attackers have simply taken Lilly instead?
Focusing back on my food, I finish up my bowl, inhaling it quicker than expected, grateful for flavor, then go to the kitchen to clean up.
That’s when she walks back into the house, bypasses her food, and goes into the bedroom.
Dish towel draped over my shoulder, I lean against the doorway of the bedroom and spot her rummaging through her dresser drawer. “Are you going to eat your food?”
“Not hungry,” she says.
“Lilly, you need to eat.”
She whirls around. “And you need to learn not to tell me what to do,” she cries out. “What the hell am I supposed to wear to bed?”
I grip the back of my head. “Clothes?”
Her eyes narrow, and I realize that was the wrong answer. But in all honesty, I wasn’t really thinking about pajamas when trying to get her out of her room.
“Clothes.” She nods. “Wow, thanks.” She goes straight to the bathroom where she shuts the door.
