“Because I don’t want to go to a ball that makes me moody?”
“How was I to know you wouldn’t want to go? This one is special. It’s winter-themed, with snowflakes and Christmas trees. Silver.” She stared down at the invitation and he had a feeling she’d forgotten he was in the room. “I would kill to go to this. There—that’s a whole new motivation for murder you’ve never even thought of.”
“But you’re not the one going. I am. Thanks to you.”
“You can’t spend the whole of the festive season locked in this apartment.”
“You’re starting to sound like my grandmother.”
“I happen to think she is right about certain things. Not trying to set you up with someone,” she said quickly, “that never works. But the fact that you should start getting out again.”
“Next you’ll be telling me that it’s been long enough.” The words came out as a growl and she looked at him steadily.
“We both know I’m not going to say that. You’re not the only one grieving, Lucas. You don’t have the monopoly on that type of pain. Just because people want you to occasionally step outside and breathe in fresh air doesn’t mean everyone thinks you should have ‘recovered,’ whatever that word means. Maybe you’d feel better if you went out.”
“Or maybe I’d feel a thousand times worse. One thing I know for sure is that nothing I’m feeling is going to be ‘fixed’ by going to a ball. If you want to live in a fantasy world, go right ahead, but don’t expect me to join you there.”
“I wouldn’t want you to join me. There’s no room in my fantasy world for cynics.” She picked up her bag and stuffed the last of her things into it. “You should go, Lucas.”
“Why? Because there is a strong chance I’ll meet someone, fall in love and live happily ever after? Is that what you were going to say?”
“Actually I was going to say that shit happens, and all we can do is carry on as best we can.” She snapped her bag shut. “But locking yourself away isn’t carrying on, Lucas. It’s hiding. Your grandmother is right about that. You should go to the ball. It will be a wonderful evening.”
“Call them back and tell them I’m not going.”
“I will not.”
“You are out of line.” He heard the chill in his voice but was unable to stop it. “I don’t tolerate interference from my family, so I’m certainly not going to tolerate it from strangers.”
Hurt flashed in her eyes. “Maybe I am out of line, but I’m not calling them back.” Her voice tight, she put the invitations carefully back on the table. “If you don’t want to go, then you’ll have to call them yourself.” With that she walked away and up the stairs.
Lucas swore under his breath and dragged his hand over the back of his neck. He felt as if he’d kicked a puppy.
What was wrong with him?
He was deliberately goading her, seeing how far he could push her, and he didn’t even know why. All he knew was that having her here unsettled him, and thinking about snowflake balls and happy-ever-afters unsettled him even more.
He heard the sound of her feet on the stairs and glanced up to see her standing in front of him with her backpack in her hands.
Shock rippled through him. “You’re leaving?”
“I’ve left all the instructions for the food on the pad by the refrigerator.” Her tone was formal and she didn’t look him in the eye. “If you have any questions, you can call the Urban Genie offices. The number is on the pad, too.”
He wondered how it was that someone so small and fragile could cause so much disruption to his life in such a short time.
“I’m not going to the ball, Eva, and you walking out isn’t going to change that.”
“You already made that clear. You also made it clear that you don’t want my help so yes, I’m leaving. It’s bad for my emotional well-being to be around people who are angry, especially when they’re angry with me. I don’t want to get stomach ulcers or hardened arteries, so I’m leaving while I’m still healthy.”
Her words intensified the guilt and made him feel like an idiot. “Put your bag down. You can’t leave. It’s still snowing.”
“I like snow a whole lot more than I like being yelled at. And if I don’t have the right to be concerned about what happens to you, then you don’t have the right to be concerned about what happens to me. They’ve lifted the travel ban and I’ve done everything I came here to do.”
The truth was she’d done more. It was because of her that he was writing again. That he had a plot, a character and an idea strong enough to drive the story through to its conclusion.
The corkscrew of guilt gouged a little deeper.
He knew he should be thanking her, or at least apologizing, but the words jammed in his throat. This whole situation was like walking on emotional quicksand. It would be so easy for both of them to be sucked in deep.