“I want to be alone,” I tell him finally. Alone with my thoughts, alone with my pain. Because I gave myself to him and he left me. I sent him away and he accepted that and he’s gone.
Finn startles, staring at me in surprise. Because I’ve never wanted to be alone before.
“Are you sure?”
I nod.
“Ok,” he finally agrees. “But if you need me, I’m right down the hall.”
He slips out after looking over his shoulder reluctantly, but I don’t call him back. Instead, I pull the blankets up and stare at the oceans, at the boats on the horizon. I wish one of them could take me, and sail me to wherever Dare is.
He might be hiding things from me, but the pain on his face was real.
He loves me.
No matter what, I have to believe that.
It’s what anchors me.
I close my eyes and sleep.
When I wake, I find Finn’s St. Michael’s medallion on my night stand. He left it with me because apparently, I am the one who needs it. Also, it’s evening. I slept all day.
> Hesitantly, I swing my legs out of bed and sit at my desk instead, opening my laptop.
I punch Adair DuBray into a search engine.
I’m half-surprised that 1. A ton of results are returned. And 2. I’m only just now doing this.
I scroll through the results hesitantly.
Apparently, his family, or his step-family, rather, are very affluent in England. They’re old money, and every Savage (that’s their last name) goes to Cambridge University. Dare went there himself, and graduated a year early.
There are tons of pictures of him posted … pictures of him at various parties, with various women on his arms. The articles mention how he’s a disappointment to the Savage matriarch, because of his wild ways, his inability to settle down, his refusal to conform. His partying ways are compared to that of Prince Harry.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
What kind of family is he from that gossip sites are so interested?
He lives on some huge estate called Whitley, with his grandmother.
Eleanor Savage.
A widow, she had two children, Laura Savage and Richard Savage II, both deceased.
She has three grandchildren, but only one is named. A step-grandson, Adair DuBray.
I stare at the picture of Eleanor. Even in the picture, her mouth is drawn tightly into a frown, like she’s perpetually displeased, like she’s unable to be satisfied. No wonder Dare doesn’t like her. No wonder he’s a self-proclaimed rogue.
I read an article interviewing him after he graduated Cambridge early and with honors. He told them that he was off to America for a while. That was earlier this year, back in the Fall.
So he’s been here since the Fall, and he was only just hunting for an apartment when he met me?
How strange.
I look again at the pictures of him. He’s surrounded by drunk women, beautiful women. All long golden legs and blond hair. In one photo, he’s got his arms wrapped around one girl, with a drink in his hand as he flippantly toasts the camera. His eyes stare into the lens… black, black, black as night.
Black as anything I’ve ever seen.