A sharp knock echoes through the penthouse. I blink at the door, confused. Who would visit at this time of night?
I set Cinnamon down and stumble to my feet, the room spinning slightly as I weave my way toward the door. I don’t bother checking the peephole. Just yank it open.
Darius stands in the hallway, still in his dinner clothes, his tie loosened.
My nose wrinkles. “Oh. It’s you. Go away.”
I try to slam the door, but his hand shoots out, stopping it.
“Are you drunk?”
“None of your damn business.”
I turn to walk away but my foot catches on nothing, and I stumble. Strong arms catch me before I hit the floor, pulling me against asolid chest.
“Violet—”
“I said, go away.” I push at him, but my hands are clumsy, uncoordinated.
He guides me backward into the apartment, kicking the door shut with his foot. “Come on. You barely ate anything at dinner. You can’t be drinking like this.”
His face goes pale when he sees the open bottles on the coffee table. The empty glass.
“This is very potent alcohol.”
“So what?” I wrench free from his grip and drop back onto the couch, picking up the glass and looking up at him with a lazy smile. “What do you want?”
He takes the glass from my hand before I can stop him, setting it back precisely where it was. “Why are you drinking?”
I tilt my head at him, my words light despite the subject. “Would you rather I cry and bemoan the fact that I am so unloved and unwanted? No, thank you.” I reach for a bottle and bring it to my lips. The alcohol burns, but I don’t care. “I’d rather get drunk.”
Darius snatches the bottle away, his jaw tight. He sits beside me, close enough that his heat seeps into my side.
“You are not unloved or unwanted.”
I laugh, the sound bitter but airy. “Oh? Who loves me, then? My mother?”
He opens his mouth.
“She can’t even tolerate me,” I say, waving my hand dismissively. “She looks at me like I’m a stain she can’t wash out. Like I’m this constant reminder of her first marriage, this weak little thing that never ceases to embarrass her.”
“There are other people,” Darius says, the words strangled.
A reckless urge races through me.
I turn toward him on the couch, trying to throw my leg over his lap. The movement is awkward, not exactly graceful, and I nearly topple sideways. He catches me automatically, his hands gripping my waist, and I use his hold as leverage to clamber into his lap properly. My fingers twist his tie, pulling his face close to mine.
“Who, Darius?” I ask, annoyed and eager to get a rise out of him. “Is it you? Do you love me?”
He swallows hard and blinks at me. His hands hover at my hips, not quite touching.
“What if I say yes?”
My whole world goes still at those whispered words.
Chapter Fourteen
Darius
