“You don’t seem fine, my sweet girl.” He reaches a hand out to touch me, but his fingers stop before making contact. “You seem upset.”
“You seem tired,” I counter, examining the circles under his eyes. Exhaustion darkens his scruffy jawbone, the evidence of a sleepless night drawn in the lines around his mouth. Even his suit, worn to perfection on most days as if he invented the concept of a classically dressed man, hangs on his frame in a rumpled state.
“I couldn’t sleep.” He pauses with a bob of his Adam’s apple. “Not while you were missing.”
“Missing?”
“Sebastian wasn’t supposed to take you off the estate grounds without clearance.”
“It’s not like he took me to another country.”
“He broke protocol, Novalee.”
The door wrenches open, and I fall backward into two strong, warm arms. “You can take your protocol and shove it,” Sebastian says, folding me into a possessive embrace from behind. His jeans brush my calves, and I’m relieved he had the foresight to put on a pair of pants.
Liam’s gaze narrows to two angry slits as he takes in the arms around my waist, as if they’re a threat he must destroy. He shakes his head. “You can’t do whatever the hell you want. You’re required to clear all overnight trips with the Brotherhood first. I can have you disqualified from the auction for this.”
“No!” I move out of Sebastian’s grasp and put my hand on the front of Liam’s suit jacket. “Please don’t. I’m begging you.” The instant the plea leaves my lips, I want to recall the words and the blaring ring of truth in them.
I want to take back the unintended pain I just launched at him. But there’s no taking it back. Devastation holds his expression hostage, and a piece of my heart fractures.
“So you’ve made your choice.” His words are a statement, void of accusation and rife with conclusion. Despite the decision not being mine to make, it matters to him that my heart knows what it wants. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he takes a step backward, and my palm falls from his chest.
“Liam, please…” Unsure of what I can say to erase the pain on his face, I wring my hands, struggling for an explanation. “I…I’m so sorry.”
And that’s when he wipes the hurt from his face, expression softening in the morning sunlight. “I know you are.” He drags a hand through his coppery hair, and as his gaze zeroes in on Sebastian, the frosty edge returns to those brown eyes. “You have until tonight to return with the queen.”
“We’ll be back tomorrow.”
Liam shakes his head, mouth an uncompromising line. “Not a minute past ten tonight, or I’ll start proceedings to have you removed from participating in the auction.” He turns on his heel and strides to the waiting SUV idling next to the sporty car Sebastian drove here yesterday.
A driver in a suit opens the back door for the chancellor, and the first man I cared about, maybe even loved, disappears into the back seat. Regret tightens my chest as the car backs down the driveway. A small part of me wants to run after him, screaming for him to wait.
Sebastian grips my hand, a quiet reminder that he’s my home now, the one my heart yearns for. The one I can’t fathom walking away from, no matter the circumstances.
Doesn’t mean hurting Liam doesn’t cut me to my soul though.
I work my hand free and return inside, blinking in rapid succession to keep the tears at bay. Making my way to the kitchen, I sense Sebastian’s steps on my heels. I open the refrigerator and gaze at the contents without seeing a thing.
“Novalee,” he says, his cajoling voice gentler than I deserve. More understanding than I deserve.
“I’m sorry…” I stall, unsure of what to say. What can I say? Blinking doesn’t work, and I panic as my eyes burn with shame. “Leave me alone. I don’t want to cry in front of you.”
Closing the door to the fridge, he whirls me around. “It’s you and me now, remember?” When I try to look away, he grips my chin. “That means when you hurt, I hurt.”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone!”
“That’s the nature of this curse, princess. Pain on top of more pain. A whole fucking lifetime of it.” Stepping closer, he tangles his hands in my hair, refusing to allow me the avenue of retreat. “All we can do is hold on to what little happiness we have.”
As his words sink in, a new fear barrels to the forefront. “We should go back. You can’t get disqualified. You can’t.”
“Castle doesn’t scare me.”
“He’s the chancellor!”
“He’s bluffing.”
“How can you be certain?”
An unnamed emotion darkens his expression. “Because he loves you.”
It’s enough to bust through my defenses. Averting my gaze, I’m helpless as tears stream down my cheeks, and I despise every single one of them. They’re a sign of weakness, easily misconstrued as something born from indecision.