“I promise, everyone is there to look after you,” she whispers, her eyes not leaving mine.
“I can’t live with him, Bella. I don’t know if I can even look him in the eyes. He abandoned me.” Tears slip free, hot and unwanted.
“Maybe this is the chance for him to make it right. It won’t be as bad as you think. The place is huge. You could probably not even bump into him there.”
A breathy laugh escapes me. “I forget how rich you guys all are.”
“How long?” I ask quietly.
“Probably not as long as the length of time since you last had sex,” she teases.
I glare at her, and she bursts out laughing. “Plus, we will be neighbours. We can make Decadence our own haven.” She nudges me gently, then rests her head against my shoulder.
“Should I go and pack?” I sigh.
“I’ll come and help you.”
Maybe it won’t be so bad.
I’ll be close to Hallie and Liam. I like Steph. I like Charlotte. There’s always something happening at Decadence. And a whole chocolate factory where I can drown my feelings if necessary.
I’ll be safe.
I haven’t felt that way here in a long time.
These people might not be my family by blood, but they’ve done more for me than my own ever did.
Still… I’ll have to face him, and figure out how to exist in the same space as the man who let me go.
And yet, buried beneath all that hurt, there’s a small, traitorous part of me that just wants to wrap my arms around him and pretend he never left.
I guess I’ll finally see who he is now.
It’s been years.
Nearly a lifetime without him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Drago
Fucking hell. My heart is lodged somewhere in my throat.
I’ve cleaned the entire mansion to within an inch of its life, scrubbing and straightening like that might somehow prepare this place for what’s about to happen. Lev sits on the couch, staring at the clock like it personally betrayed him.
I leave him to it.
If I say the wrong thing right now, he’ll tear this place apart stone by stone. And it isn’t just anger rolling off him. It’s fury layered with guilt. At me. At the world. At himself.
“Lev,” I say cautiously.
This man is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a father. And I will still slap him across the head if he doesn’t stop smoking inside the house.
“What?” he grunts.
“Get your ass outside if you wanna smoke.”
He drags himself toward the back door like a ghost, bloodshot eyes hollowed out by too many regrets. He slides it open, pauses, then turns back to me.
