I open my mouth to tell him everything.
I’m the bastard child of François Montague.
Will he believe the worst? Does he trust me?
My heart pounding, I’m about to tell him everything when he speaks first.
Still, I can’t help but feel that something’s wrong.
Something’s terribly wrong.
We just made love and he told me he loved me, but it feels like… goodbye.
Why does it feel like goodbye?
He doesn’t look in my eyes when he pulls out. He doesn’t look at me when he cleans me up and tucks a blanket around me.
He doesn’t look at me when he deals the final blow that feels like a fist to my heart.
“I want you to understand that it’s because I love you that I need you to go.”
I sit up. My body’s still heated, my pulse still racing from making love.
Did I mishear him? I feel as if someone splashed cold water on me. A prickle of fear and apprehension washes down my spine. I start to tremble.
“What?” I whisper.
“If you’re anywhere near me, you’re in danger. Don’t you see? They want to get tome.They killed Rousseau because they know that we met. They know that the two of us were together, and the fact that you weren’t harmed makes me feel like you escaped by the skin of your goddamn teeth.” He shakes his head. “You can’t stay here anymore, not with me. I can’t keep yousafeif you’re with me.”
“Of course you can,” I protest. He can do anything.
But I know before I speak that it’s fruitless. If he’s made up his mind, then he won’t be talked out of it. He can do anything if he wants to, I know he can. My voice sounds pathetic even to my own ears as I plead with him. “Lyam…”
“I’ll give you everything you need,” he says, his voice harsh but choked, and it gives me some consolation to know that he’s struggling with this, too. “I’ll make sure you have money and protection, and I’ll even have a decoy with me so that it looks like you’re still here.”
A decoy? I feel my eyes go wide.
A decoy would be a woman just like me.
My rational brain tells me to simmer down, to not get carried away, but I can’t help it.
He’s going to have a… woman… with him? So that no one suspects he’s hidden me? The hot flames of jealousy lick at my skin.
No.
No.
I stand and shake my head, nausea forgotten. I can’t let him push me away. I can’t let him give in to his fears about not being able to protect me. I won’t give up on us.
“No, Lyam,” I say. He stands with me, facing me, towering over me. I know that look he gets when he’s made up his mind about something, and I should really take heed of that look, but I’m pushing forward.
Your refusal to obey me intrigues me.
Does it, still?
“I won’t let you do this,” I say, shaking my head. Our baby is worth me fighting for this, but even as I protest, I feel the gnawing suspicion I had from the beginning clawing at me. If I force him to stay with me, is he really staying at all?
His phone rings. A muscle twitches in his jaw, and his eyes narrow on me. It rings again, the blaring sound like the clang of a doomsday gong. It could be important, each of us knows that, but we both stare at the phone as if it’s a viper ready to bite.
