“Please don’t let me go,” he mumbles against my lips.
“Never.” I pull his shirt out of his trousers, then slide a hand beneath, loving the way his skin breaks out into goosebumps under my palms. With a leg between his, I back him until his back is pressed to the wall, then I toy with the waistband of his trousers, groaning when my fingertips brush against the soft lace hiding beneath his slacks. Needing to see all of him – and forgetting everything but Darius – I bring both my hands to his front, and start working on the buttons of his shirt, starting at the top.
When I get three undone, he suddenly tenses, pulling back, kiss slicked lower lip caught between his teeth.
“Fuck.” He shakes his head and reaches for his shirt, but it’s too late because I’ve already seen what he’s trying to hide.
With my hands covering his, I pull the top of his shirt apart. Dark purple bruises run the length of his collarbone. I grit my teeth, a red haze floating at the edges of my vision.
“Who did this to you, angel? Didhedo this?”
Darius hastily tries to button up his shirt, but with his hand in a splint, it’s difficult.
The splint.
“And your wrist – did he do that too?” I step away from Darius, clenching and unclenching my fists. Anger boils my blood. “I will fucking kill him.”
Iknewit. I bloody well knew something was wrong.
“Please, leave it alone, Ollie.” Darius gets irritated with his buttons and drops his hands to his sides. “Help me with these, please. I need to get back out there.”
Slowly, I approach him, then do up the buttons. I steal another kiss, hovering my lips over his.
“In this lifetime and the next,” I whisper. “But baby,thisis still our lifetime. I’m not letting you go.”
His smile is weak, but it’s there even through the pain on his beautiful face.
“I knew you wouldn’t, and that’s the entire reason things had to be this way.”
Darius steps out of my reach and I want to ask what he means by that, but there’s a banging on the door. A rather pissed off patron is outside when Darius opens it. The guy shoots me a glare, then hurries into one of the stalls.
Darius slips out and I know I can’t chase after him. Not now.
But I meant what I said. I’m not letting him go. Whatever is going on here, Iwillfind out – there has to be someone he confided in. When I’m back behind the bar, I take my phone out of my back pocket, search for the name of the person I hope will be straight with me, and then send a quick message.
Me:Can we talk?
Chapter 30
Darius
“Why so glum, sugarplum?” Florence asks, bumping my shoulder with hers, which makes me spill the milk I was pouring. “Shit, sorry.” She grabs a cloth and wipes up the mess on the counter, then dabs it over the fabric of my splint.
“It’s fine.” I take the cloth from her and finish drying the milk off my hand. “I’m not glum. I’m fine.”
“Such a bad liar,” she muses, throwing a spoonful of marshmallows into my drink. My shift is over and I’m stalling, planning to sit and read in the corner rather than go home and lock myself in my room. “You’re as glum as a storm cloud.” She pulls on the cord of my hoodie. “Since when do you wear black and sweats to work?”
Since I stopped caring about anything but counting down the days until I can end my farce of a marriage.
“Are you going to see your dad this evening?” It’s Friday, and in the past, that is what I would be doing. But not anymore. I went once, two weeks ago, the Friday after I saw Oliver at BarLa Vella, and decided I can’t do it again. I cannot look at my father without feeling betrayed. More so when it became clear my stepmum knows nothing about what’s going on. I don’t know how she’d feel about it all, given their marriage was born out of a desire to elevate both her father’s and my father’s status. Maybe ignoranceisbliss, and she’s happily ignorant. Or maybe she knows more than she’s letting on. Either way, family dinners are over.
I will save my father’s ass and his company, but our relationship will never be the same.
“No.” I take a sip of hot chocolate, loving the burst of sweetness on my tongue.
“Want me to come over tonight and we’ll stare daggers at that husband of yours before watching some true crime?”
I laugh, and it feels good. Florence still doesn’t know the full story. She knows my marriage is part of an arrangement, but she’s never pressed me for more details, for which I am grateful. Unlike Caiden, who handles me with kid gloves, and Darcey, who is a ball of fire and rage aimed at Floyd whenever she sees me, Florence keeps things the way they’ve always been. Giving me the sense of normalcy I’ve otherwise lost.
