‘About Nate...?’
I take a breath and raise my chin. ‘I’ll tell you exactly what the last five years have been like if you promise to tell me what happened.’
His eyes flicker; his jaw pulses. ‘I’ve already agreed, and I don’t go back on my word—no matter what your family think.’
The way he stresses ‘your’ isn’t lost on me, and he slaps his beer bottle on the coffee table as he rises.
‘But also know I still want dessert.’
My insides clench and my lips part. I’m so glad he isn’t looking at me to see the effect his words have had. It doesn’t matter how deep our conversation goes, how much pain it dredges up, his effect on me is impossible to prevent, and I need to muster my strength if I am to get through this unscathed.
Perhaps walking out, ringing Nate, dealing with his ineffectual tantrum, would be preferable to opening myself up even more to Lucas. I was vulnerable enough before, but now...
I don’t finish the thought. Instead I scoop up the empty trays and roll the leftovers onto one plate. My mind shifts helplessly to ‘dessert’.
What the fuck, Eva?
I know I shouldn’t be contemplating it. Loyalty is a huge thing in my family—we stand by one another through thick and thin. The Beaumonts stand united, as Dad would say. But everything I’ve done with Lucas, everything I am doing, goes against that.
Or does it?
> I’m only trying to get to the truth, to get the other side to this tale.
I join him in the kitchen. ‘Where’s your bin?’
I scan his super-smooth cupboards, the walls—avoid looking at the solitary framed photo.
‘Here.’ He presses a rectangle and out it pops. I drop the rubbish in as he turns to me with a beer bottle.
‘Ta.’
My hand rests over his as I take it. Our eyes lock and the crazy narration taking place in my brain ceases and then starts again tenfold.
Why does he have this power? No one else has ever come close. No one...
‘Evangeline.’
His voice rasps and suddenly it annoys me. I’m sick of being out of control with him. Sick of being hounded by my family to do the right thing.
‘Let’s talk.’
I stride back to the living area and sink onto the sofa, my legs curled up alongside me.
He’s slower than me to return. ‘Is it safe to sit next to you?’
‘If you like.’
I don’t look at him as he lowers himself onto the sofa. I focus on chucking back a mouthful of beer rather than on the way my body reacts to his proximity, the fuzzy warmth that radiates all down the side that’s closest to him. I taste nothing.
‘So?’ he probes, looking at me.
But I don’t turn. Reliving the past isn’t something I find easy. It changed me for the better, made me stronger, more determined to go after what I want and gain my independence. Nate’s the opposite.
‘Nate’s not the man you remember.’
‘So you say.’
I give him a quick look, more to shut him up than anything. His cold dismissal isn’t what I need right now.