“And what say do you have?” I ask, eyes snapping open.
His thumb grazes my cheekbone. “I don’t care who I am. Or what your father thinks of me. I won’t let him have you.”
“You can’t stop them.”
“Watch me.”
And then he kisses me.
Hard.
Fierce.
Like he’s branding a vow into my mouth.
I kiss him back like I believe it.
Because for one second, I do.
We break apart, both breathless. My fingers curl around his wrist.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He nods, jaw still clenched. “You go in there with your head high, Little Bird. Let the bastard see what real fire looks like.”
I square my shoulders.
And step out of the bathroom.
Back toward the flames.
16
Victoria
I makeit back to my room after dinner before I fall apart.Barely.
The door clicks shut behind me.
The silence feels suffocating, and my skin still burns where Grant touched me.
I move to the edge of my bed, grabbing a handful of my skirt and clenching until the silk wrinkles between my fingers.
In. Out. In.
It doesn’t work.
The walls feel too close. And my hands shake.
“You're fine,” I whisper to myself, pacing now. My bare feet thud softly against the plush rug like I’m trying to stomp down the panic. “You're fine. You're fine. You made it through dinner. You're in your room. He's not here. He can't touch you now.”
But the tremble won’t stop.
My chest stutters with every breath.
I rub my hands up and down my arms, whispering anything.
Nonsense, comfort, lies . . .
