She’s been like a wounded animal, watchful and afraid.
I did that to her.
I have no idea if I can ever make it up to her, but I’ve decided to try.
My entire body is sore from the way I smacked into the back of that car, but it was worth it.
I saw that shit stain with his hands on Katarina, the other one getting out of the car and I went…dark.
My vision, my temper, it turned from ice to red hot in a split second.
“Are you sure there isn’t somewhere else we can drive you, miss?” the officer asks, his gaze going to Katarina in the rearview mirror.
She doesn’t even flick her gaze toward him. “No. There’s nowhere else.”
Her words cut into me.
I played it off like Katarina and I weren’t acquainted. It made my story of hitting the car accidentally much more plausible.
But now, the officer is offering a ride to wherever she wants to go.
“Where were you headed?” he asks, his brow furrowing, even as he rolls up the long drive of the estate.
“Dover,” she answers. “I’ve always wanted to see the Channel.”
The officer smiles, looking relieved. “Right. But maybe thumbing for a ride isn’t the best travel plan.”
“Too true,” she says, sounding a bit more like herself. “I won’t do it again.”
He nods and then he turns to me. “Nice of you to offer her a place for the night, Your Grace.”
I’m many things, but nice is not one of them. “It’s not as though I don’t have the room.”
He laughs, but my gaze flicks to Katarina who has gone back to staring out the window.
Her silence is more powerful than any argument I’ve ever had.
When people argue, I can find ways to be right. But in absence of sound, I find my reflecting on all the ways I’ve done this all wrong.
The car stops and I wait for the officer to open my side. Not because I’m a lord of the realm. I don’t have a choice, no interior door handles in the back of a police vehicle.
He does and then goes around to help Katarina from the back.
But he doesn’t let go of her hand. “You’re sure you’ll be all right?” I can see the concern that lights his eyes and the interest.
Bruises are blooming on her jaw, her clothes are covered in dirt, and yet she’s still stunningly beautiful.
“Fine,” she answers with a sweet smile that looks completely sincere. Little liar.
But I manage to wrest her from the officer’s attention and walk her up the stairs and into the foyer.
I half hoped when the front door closed, she’d return to herself. Maybe yell at me.
Or at least give me a sarcastic comment about how obnoxious or superior I am. I’m both.
Instead, she stands there, still holding her bag.
“Katarina,” I start, wanting her to say anything.
