Scorch (Virtues & Lies 2)

I can’t even be angry with his callousness.

“I’m not leaving with you.”

Grabbing another small cloth, he soaks it through, wringing it before turning to me.

He’s got that cold look on his pinched face, and I know I need to steel myself for whatever’s coming.

“At least make sure you clean yourself up before you let another man touch you.”

I have no right to be hurt. But fuck me, his derision stings to the core of my soul.

Before he walks out of the toilet, he drops the washcloth at my feet. “Better yet, don’t—that way when he touches you, you can pretend it’s me.”

A scowl twists his face as he looks me from head to toe slowly and leaves.

Chapter 11

Arabella

Two weeks go by excruciatingly slow. I keep waiting for Christopher to come to me. To bulldoze me and extract all the answers he’s seeking from me, but it doesn’t happen. I’m disappointed and relieved all at once.

It’s obvious they know where I am. Casper keeps dropping by unannounced. It’s easy when Georgina is at work or rehearsal. I can ignore him. He’s visiting her tonight. And I can’t bring myself to lie to his face when he asks me for answers.

I can’t fuck this up. Not again. Not after being given a chance to try and redeem my wrongs.

Driving down wealthy London streets, my heart aches to go to Christopher. To make him see that I’m on his side. That I’m just doing what needs to be done. My duty. I won’t let him down again.

“Your child is gone. Your husband is a liability. You had one job. One.”

“Benedict!”

“What, Mercia?”

“No es su culpa.” It’s not her fault.

My mother’s hand strokes my hair from my face. I wish she hadn’t, because now my tears are in the open, judged along with my failures.

“Of course it is. What we fail to do is always our fault.”

“I saved Christopher.” I did. I took the hit. I protected my king.

His face softens for a split second before it hardens again. Leaning over the foot of my bed, he asks, “Did you?”

Pain splices through me, as if another reminder of my emptiness is required. And as I stare at the white chequered ceiling, my tears fatten with muted howls.

“You broke him.” Shaking his head, he steps back as if our proximity disgusts him. “You have single-handedly destroyed everything we’ve worked for. For what? Fresh air? A romantic whim?”

Freedom.

I want to turn away, but I can’t move. My body isn’t just sore, it’s ripped apart.

I am destroyed.

And alone.

“Tell me how to fix it.”

“This is unfixable.”