I’m genuinely confused, my frown lines making Owen laugh.
“Why do you look so adorable when you’re confused?” He leans over and kisses my forehead, running his thumb over the creases.
“I am confused,” I say, grabbing his hand in mine. I link my pinkie round his and sit cross legged in front of him, while he does the same. “I thought your end game was Number 10?”
“No. Far from it. I’m better off causing noise from the bench. I don’t think I even want a cabinet position. I want to help influence those who areinthose positions, whisper from the side lines.”
“Okay,” I reply, because I’m not entirely sure what else to say. “I think I get it.”
He tilts his head back and laughs. “You don’t get it. You still hate that I’ve become the thing you despise, but I appreciate you not being your usual, less than supportive self about it.”
“Ouch,” I say, dropping his hand. “No need to be a bastard about it.”
“No, no, Luce, I’m not. Let’s not forget you’re still pissed at me for taking money from Luca. Let’s also not forget that we need to have a conversation.”
“What have we been doing for the past few minutes?”
“Talking around the thing that we need to be talking about. I swear, you have all the makings of a politician. Misdirection seems to be a natural talent for you.”
“I’m not misdirecting.”
He raises an eyebrow at me, and I roll my eyes, sighing.
“Okay, Fine. Maybe I am slightly, but I need to plan. I need to keep you safe. I need to—”
“I need to tell you what happened, why I left.”
I pause, mid-sentence, how can I reply? This is what I’ve been wanting the answer to. The very simple question ofwhy.
“Before you say anything more,” I say clumsily, “can I just…can I just say I don’t blame you.”
“You do, Cookie,” he says through a tight smile, meeting my eyes briefly before dropping them down to the amber liquid in his crystal glass that he swirls around.
“It’s okay to blame me. I blame me, but I know it’s not my fault.”
I don’t say anything, I just listen and watch the emotions play out on his beautiful, stupid face.
“It took me a long time to come to terms with that. When you told me what happened earlier—”
“I shouldn’t have told you how I did,” I admit, shame washing over me.
“No, you shouldn’t. But you wanted to hurt me.” He shrugs. “Andrews isn’t the only person who can read people. And you forget, Cookie, I can read you the best. You wanted to hurt me, and you did. You fucking ripped out my heart when you told me, and I went straight back to blaming myself. I will always blame myself, even as half of my brain tells me that it’s not my fault. He’d have found a way eventually.”
I can’t meet the intensity of his eyes this time, so I drop his gaze, picking off an invisible lint from his jeans. Not from my own leggings, because still, even as he lays himself bare and starts to tell me the thing I’m desperate to hear, I can’t not touch him.
“I would have done everything in my power to stop him—”
“And you would have gotten yourself killed.”
“Probably.” He shrugs. “But being dead is better than the guilt andwhat ifsI’ve spent years asking myself. If I knew he would take it that far, I’d have gladly killed him.”
“Do you know what happened to Maria?”
Owen stares at me, biting his lip.
“What?”
“She’s doing well.”
