Chapter 24
Elijah
She's beautiful, and I'm annoyed.
Actually, I’m past annoyed. I’m hovering between pissed off, quietly turned on, and one wrong comment away from committing a felony.
This meal needs to end. Soon.
The fact that we’re stuck doing this in a public place, where I have to sit still, smile politely and pretend I’m not imagining far better ways to spend my time, only makes it worse.
“Oh, Elijah, I forgot to ask. How was the holiday with Rose the other month?”
I turn my head slowly to Olivia, her plastic smile aimed straight at me. I honestly don't know how Peter, her husband, lives with it.
Then again, I’m a hypocrite. I stayed with Rose far longer than I should have. I had my reasons—some valid, some painfully stupid—but sometimes you convince yourself that enduring the nonsense is just part of loving someone.
“Didn't you ask Rose?”
There's no way, after all the spa weekends and cocktail nights, that the holiday hasn't been spoken about. Either Rose has been bragging about the men she's been sleeping with behind my back, or she's been painting a very convincing picture of a perfect marriage.
“I did,” Olivia replies lightly, arching a perfectly shaped brow as she takes a delicate sip of her wine. “But I’d rather hear how it was foryou.”
Yeah, it could be either one.
I catch Willow glancing at me, deliberately ignoring Blake, who's practically undressing her with his eyes from where he sits next to her. I have to resist the very real urge to haul him out of his chair and far away from her. I’m beyond tired of watching him flirt, reach for her hand, and act like he's entitled to her attention.
Every part of her feels like it belongs to me.
She and Quinn showed up late because they got themselves stuck inside a house they broke into, hiding under a bed while two women fucked each other above them. River filled me in—apparently, Willow was live-updating him through the entire ordeal. Before that, I’d been seconds away from marching out to find her after she hung up on me.
I shouldn't find any of it funny.
Especially not after seeing the slightly shell-shocked look on her face when she walked in. Quinn, on the other hand, looked far too entertained by the whole thing.
I rub a hand over my chin. “It was… eye-opening.”
Rose stiffens, her jaw tightening, but I don't care. I’m not about to lie and paint it as some romantic getaway. I’m also not about to air everything out here.
Not because I owe Rose anything—but because my son deserves a proper conversation about why his parents are divorcing, and it's not happening in front of these three idiots and an audience.
“Is that good?” she asks, Peter's hand resting over hers as he continues to be the only one actually eating.
I shrug. “Let's just say Rose had abangingtime.”
A snort escapes Quinn before she can stop herself. Willow nudges her, but I catch the way she sucks in her lips, trying and failing not to laugh.
She told Quinn.
I’m almost certain of it. And honestly? I don't mind.
Ezra knows, too, not because I sat him down and told him word-for-word, but because he's perceptive enough to read between the lines. He didn't need the details to understand what was happening.
If Willow needs someone to share the burden of this secret so it doesn't weigh heavily on her chest and consume her, then I’m fine with that.
What's happening between us is forbidden.
Wrong, by most people's standards.
