Atticus lifts the decanter to fill Céline's glass, and she picks up on the dramatic shift in the room.
"Oh my," she says. "I've hit a sore spot."
She shares a look with Aurora, who casts her gaze away as ifshe'sthe guilty one at the table. Something is definitely going on there and I have to think it's to do with the fact that Ro has shut down every one of Eli's and my advances since she got here. At first I assumed it was the stress getting to her, but now I'm not so sure.
Atticus sighs through his nose as he sets the decanter back on the table, but doesn't let go of it, his knuckles turning white where they grip around its delicate glass neck.
"I really messed up," he says, eyes lifting to Céline's. "I broke her trust. I thought she was something she wasn't.Isn't."
Céline's brows draw down and when she looks at Aurora again, it's like she's understanding something for the first time. Like she's sorry.
But Aurora isn't looking at her. She's swirling her wine and working her jaw.
"He thought I was Ambrose's mole," she explains.
Céline gasps and then twists in her seat to swat Atticus. "But of course she isn't!"
Atticus's jaw tightens. "I know. Like I said—I fucked up, Cee."
"What did you do?"
"It's fine," Aurora says in a harsh whisper, her cheekbones flaring. "We don't need to rehash it."
"No, it's not fine," Atticus blurts in a rough tone, and I don't know exactly what's happening right now, but Atticus admitting he fucked up and is sorry in front of an audience was not on this year's bingo card…
Ro shifts in her seat, and even though Céline was the one asking, Atticus is speaking directly to Aurora when he continues.
"I hurt you. I accused you of things I had no right to accuse you of."
Consider me floored.
I’ve known Atticus for over a decade. I’ve seen him kill men without blinking. I’ve seen him plan heists with the precision of a surgeon about to do open-heart surgery.
But I haveneverseen him apologize like this.
Not with his voice cracking and his entire fucking heart bleeding out over the dining room table for everyone to see.
Ro doesn’t know what she’s witnessing.
But I do.
Atticus isn’t apologizing because he wants her to forgive him.
He’s reopening the wound and begging her to let him stitch it up the right way this time. He’s apologizing because he’sbroken, and she’s the only one who can put him back together.
"Leave it," Aurora says, getting clearly agitated. "It doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done."
"It does matter, Aurora."
Ro flinches, like it hurts to hear him be sorry, but why would it?
If she were still angry, like she pretends to be, she'd be snapping at him. That's her go-to. But she isn't snapping, and she isn't accepting his apology, either. She's almost cowering from it.
Maybe this shouldn’t happen now.
"Hey, bro, I think maybe we dro?—"
"No, I need to say this, and she needs to hear it. You all do.
