I hate that she’s right. My head is nodding, knowing precisely what she’s talking about, but my heart is bleeding, the need to stop Keller, to speak with him, driving me to do stupid things like step out into the capital in a pair of pajamas, looking for a man. Out of all the training I’ve been through, I know that gut reactions are not permitted. I need to be thoughtful about what I do and what I say.
Sad and worried, I climb back on the bed and pull my legs in again. “I hate this,” I say. “I texted him, I called him, left him voicemails begging him to come back to me, and he’s not listening. I just assumed that it could help if I saw him in person.”
“There’s no use now. In his head, he needs to fix this.”
“So, what am I supposed to do? Just wait?” I ask.
“Yes, wait and hope he doesn’t get into trouble.”
KELLER
Silence has been echoing in my ears since I sat down in this dark abyss of a room. Not even a distant cough or laugh, just complete and total silence, which has caused me to live in my thoughts.
My insecurities are roaring to life.
My need to distance myself leaving me feeling cold.
And that text message, burning a hole in my pocket, as I fucking wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Until it’s four in the morning and I hear the distant sound of feet clomping down the hallway. A familiar gait that I’ve come to know well. The slightest of limps from when he was training to become a guard and was cracked in the knee by an oncoming car. He rolled over the windshield and landed on his feet, but the damage was done.
And now, as I hear that limp come closer and closer, I dig my fingers into the arms of the chair I’m sitting in, trying to steady my breathing and my temper.
Lara was right, I couldn’t go to the pub, not with the risk of all eyes on us. So, instead, I went to his room, where I’ve been waiting ever since. And this is where I’ve been, in this chair, fucking waiting.
The doorknob jingles, and then the door pushes open. Brimar flicks on the overhead light, and when he looks up to find me in the middle of his room, staring at him, he startles backward into the wall.
“Jesus Christ,” he says as I stand and slam the door shut behind him. He pinches his brow and asks, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Why do you think I’m here?” I ask, gauging how drunk he is. From the clarity in his eyes and the steadiness in his legs, I’m going to say not drunk at all. But there’s a lipstick stain on his neck and a noteworthy perfume that’s unfamiliar swirling around him.
Outrage and anger take over as I press my hand to his chest and back him up against the wall. “Are you fucking cheating on Lara?”
His eyes lift as he stares directly at me. “Is that why you’re here?” he asks.
“You know why I’m fucking here, but answer the question.”
“Yes,” he says. “For months now.”
The absolute fucking audacity of the man. Before I can stop, I bring my fist back and slam it into his jaw.
He doesn’t fight back. He slinks down to the floor, spitting out a gob of blood and smiling while holding his jaw.
“You used to punch harder than that. Lost some of your steam now that you’re fucking some American?”
“Watch it,” I say.
He stands and moves around his room, setting his things down and taking off his suit jacket. “So, figured out the text was from me, huh? I’m surprised it took you this long.”
“I’ve been waiting for you, not wanting to make a scene in public.”
“Ah, but the boys down at the pub would’ve enjoyed that.” He wipes his white sleeve across his mouth, blood staining the fabric. “They were all talking about the new princess, wondering if she was single and looking for someone to help continue the strong Strom name. Lots of guys are lining up to get a piece of your girl. You could have defended her honor, let them know your dick claims her . . . and the throne.”
My jaw tenses.
My fists clench at my sides.
I know he’s provoking me, trying to get me to fight him, and even though I’d like nothing more than to beat the ever-loving shit out of him, I didn’t come here for that right now. I came for answers, and that’s what I’m going to get.
“Who have you told?”
He unbuttons his shirt. “Who have I told what? You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“About my relationship with Lilly. About the adoption.”
“Ah, I see. You’re worried about your reputation.”