I frown. “What’s going on?”
Her bottom lip trembles, her gaze dropping to the floor, and I think my heart goes with it.
I let her go. Step back. “What’s going on, Blesk?”
She blinks through the water, beads catching in her lashes and trailing down her cheeks. Nothing.
“Dammit. What’s going on?”
She stares at the white tiles beneath her feet, focused on her breathing.
“Duchess?” I beg again, my voice breaking. Fuck it—I grab her chin, trying to make her look at me, but she purposely bounces her gaze away, refusing me.
“What have I done? Tell me and I’ll never do it again.”
After several painfully long seconds, she finally stares straight at me through empty, shallow pools. I blink and tilt my head, trying to analyse the void in front of me. All the love she showed me today is gone from her eyes.
She murmurs in a half-voice I barely recognise, “Don’t ever thank me for that again.”
“What?”
She strangles a sob. “Erik used to thank me.”
“I’m sorry, baby.” I cup her face and kiss her lips, softly. Too soon.It was too soon. I should have known better. Last time she was spouting her brother’s words and fucking my fingers, this time… I have to do better. Understand her. Read her fucking mind somehow.
“How many girls were you with last week?” Her eyes lift, hitting me with such force I drop my hands from her face.
Words. Where the fuck are my words? “What?”
“Were you with other girls last week?”
“We weren’t together.”
Her lip stiffens. “That isn’t what I asked.”
“Don’t do this, Duch. Plea?—”
“Just answer the question, Konnor!”
“Where are you hearing this from?”
“Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me the girl I met downstairs was lying to me. Faith, I think her name is? Correct? She was also at the rugby party? How long has this been going on? Do you text her? Do you…” Her voice shakes. “Like her?”
Fuck.
“No.” I press my palm flat against the tiles, steadying myself while the room tilts. I don’t even remember it. I— I don’t even remember.
My blood roars for alcohol.
She starts to sob, shoulders shaking, and I die a little inside. It’smyfault. “Tell me you didn’t sleep with her, then kick her out the next morning. Tell me you didn’t treat her like a whore. Tell me she’s lying about that?”
“It isn’t a lie.” I may not remember, but I also know that something happened. There are flashes. Moments. If I could bleach them away, I would.
Blesk winces.
Everything crashes down at once, splintering something in my chest. Last week I couldn’t breathe without her. Couldn’t think. That wasn’t me—she has to know that.
“So?” she cries, spluttering, barely choking her words out between whimpers. “Answer the questions.”
