He didn’t answer the single text I’d sent him. I’d typed a hundred different things and deleted them all before sending, unable to find something remotely adequate to express how I felt.
Me: I’m sorry.
I was a zombie in the back seat of the black Mercedes that took me to and from my classes at Etonsons. I sat shell-shocked in my lectures, taking notes like a transcriptionist and not absorbing any of it. My phone was on silent, so every vibration of a text from my sister or an email from someone about the wedding plans had me racing to check my screen.
When I returned to the house after my last class, it was empty except for the staff. I went up the grand staircase, shivering in the cold despite the fact it still felt like summer outside. Macalister kept the house colder than a doctor’s office, convinced the low temperature kept the mind sharp.
I caught my reflection in the mirror over the dresser as I packed my mythology books into the suitcase I’d used to bring them here. Even though I was a college kid, I was no longer allowed to look or dress like one. I had on a gauzy black button-down blouse and camel brown cigarette pants, and my hair and makeup were done, and I looked more likely to go to a corporate event than a lecture on campus.
When everything was done, I perched myself on the edge of the bed and waited.
It wasn’t that much longer before I heard the security system chirp, the front door swing open, and slow footsteps on the stairs. Whoever it was, they were alone, and I swallowed thickly. Alice and Macalister usually rode to the office together, but Royce went on his own.
When he materialized in the shadow of the hallway, I rose to stand, and we stared at each other through my open doorway. Would he come in? Or would he turn and go into his own room, forcing me to follow him?
His expression was unreadable as he took a few hesitant steps my direction, stopping when he stood at the threshold. He was wearing my favorite of his suits, the cobalt blue one he’d worn during the awful luncheon where I’d made the deal with Macalister that I’d marry his son.
I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. They hung in my throat, fighting over which line was the best to open with. When my eyes grew damp with tears, he moved into the room and pushed the door closed.
He asked it so softly, it broke my heart. “Are you all right?”
“No,” I said. “Are you?”
“No,” he admitted. His intense stare was like the sun. Too hard to look at for more than a moment at a time. His tone was hesitant. “I’m sorry I left last night. I thought you wouldn’t want to see me.”
“What?”
“After what you had to do for us. For me, really.” He looked tortured and ashamed. “I tried, Marist. I tried so fucking hard, and it still wasn’t enough.”
I inhaled so sharply, it hurt. Everything hurt. He thought he’d failed me? “Oh, my God, Royce. No, I’m sorry. I didn’t see another way, and I thought I could beat him, and—”
He came at me like an unstoppable hurricane, his hands diving into my hair and forcing me to look at him. His voice teemed with determination. “Don’t. You think I blame you? I can’t.” He took in a deep breath. “Watching you make that deal was almost as hard as the one I had to make. The only person I blame is him.” His focus dropped down to my lips like he was thinking about kissing me, and his voice rasped. “You? You did what you had to.”
When I closed my eyes, it unleashed the tear that had collected, and it rolled hotly down my cheek. Then his thumb was there, brushing it away a split-second before his lips settled on mine in a chaste kiss. This wasn’t him manipulating me, or even about desire.
It was two people enduring the same pain and finding relief in each other.
When our kiss ended, I pressed my forehead to his and kept my eyes closed because I was too scared to look at him when I asked it. “What happened after you left the maze?” My tone was terrified, and a shiver glanced down my spine. “Did you watch?”
“No.”
I let out a tight, stuttering breath, not caring if this was true or he’d only said it to spare me. For once, I was happy he was a spectacular liar. He ran his hands over my shoulders, down my arms, all the way until he had my hands grasped in his.
His fingers toyed with mine, and then he went wooden. Hurt and betrayal twisted on his face, and he stepped back, staring at me with new eyes. Like I had deceived him.