I don’t know where Sebastian is. There hadn’t been a lock on the door for me to lock it, but maybe he didn’t know which room I was in. Or maybe he drank so much again that he’s passed out in one of the other bedrooms.
The kitchen door opens then, and a gust of cold wind blows in.
My heart leaps to my throat when Gregory steps inside.
He appears just as shocked to see me as I am to see him, and it takes him a minute before he closes the door and seems to regain his composure, which he does faster than me.
“Where’s your bodyguard?” he asks, barely casting a glance around as he goes to the sink and runs water over the butt of his cigarette before tossing it into the trash can.
“Why do you smoke?”
“Why not?”
He turns to face me, leans his back against the counter.
“Are you worried about my health?” he asks.
He eyes my whiskey, brings the bottle over to sit down across from me. He pours into one of the two glasses there and swallows it all before pouring another.
“You drink too much, too,” I say.
“Judgmental much?”
“You and your brother both do.”
Plastering a false smile on his face, he takes another healthy sip.
“Think you should be here? Alone with me?” he asks.
I study him and again, I see it, that broken boy behind the angry, hard façade.
“Why are you here, Gregory? At Lucinda’s house?”
“I didn’t exactly feel welcome on the island.”
“Are you welcome here?”
He shrugs a shoulder.
I look down at the amber liquid, swish it around, then take a sip.
“Does it help?” I ask.
“Does what help?”
“If I drink enough, will it all go away? Will I forget?” I ask. I look at his strange eyes, so dark with those specks of bright turquoise.
“Just for a while,” he says.
He swallows the contents of his glass and gestures for me to do the same.
I pick it up and do it, even though it burns like hell, and he pours me another.
“That’s a good Willow Girl.”
“Stop with that. Just stop.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not you. You’re not a jerk even though you go out of your way to act like one.”
He snorts. “That’s where you’re wrong, Helena. I’m a jerk and an asshole, but no more so than my brother.”
“Where is he?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “I’m not Sebastian’s keeper.”
We sit in silence for a long minute.
“You’re wrong,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow.
“You’re neither of those things. I see you, Gregory. I see past the asshole image you like to put on. It’s just a front and I see through it.”
“Really?” He drinks.
I take another sip, even though I’m feeling the alcohol.
“Yeah, really. What you said when we were on that beach, I get you wanting it. Wanting that stupid kiss. What Sebastian does, I know it’s not fair, not to you.”
“Fair,” he snorts. “Life’s not fucking fair, Helena.”
“It’s not.” I’m quiet, considering my words.
“You know if he finds you in here with me, he’ll be pissed,” Gregory says.
“You don’t care about that,” I say.
“Do you?”
“I think sometimes, it’s easier for me because he makes me. With you. When he tells me to, it’s easier.”
I balance the glass on its edge on the table, focusing on it rather than looking at him.
“Even when he punishes me after.”
When I finally look up, I find him watching me.
“What do you want, Helena?”
I drink from my glass. I don’t answer.
“What are you doing here?” he continues. “With me?”
“I care about you, Gregory.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit. I do.”
His eyes search mine. “But you love him.”
I nod.
He pushes his chair back, scraping the tiles.
I get up too, catch his arm when he turns to go. “Wait.”
He looks down at my hand wrapped around his wrist, then turns his gaze up to mine.
“Wait for what?” he asks.
The way he looks at me, it’s like he’s looking for something. Like he’s searching like you would a buoy when you’re out too far at sea and don’t have the strength to swim another minute. Another second.
“Wait for what, Helena?” he asks again, shifting his hands so they wrap around both of my wrists and walking me backward toward the wall.
“Gregory—”
“No.” He steps closer so he’s looming over me. “Answer me. Wait for what?”
My heart races.
“I don’t know what,” I finally say.
He exhales, brings his mouth to my ear and I feel the scruff of his jaw on my cheek and hear his warm breath on my ear.
“If you were mine I wouldn’t share you,” he whispers, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. He kisses the side of my cheek and I squeeze my eyes closed.
“Gregory, stop.”
When I try to free myself, he tightens his grip on my wrists. He draws back just far enough so I can see his eyes.
“Did he do it?” he asks, touching his forehead to mine.