My hand snaked into her hair, and the instant I touched her, her face melted like that was exactly what she needed to find peace. My fingers fisted her hair tightly, and I tilted her head back to force her to look up at me. The moment I’d laid eyes on her, she was all I ever wanted, not just for the night, but my entire life. But like a shadow passing overhead, clouds promising rain, my anger approached over the horizon.
I was so angry.
Her eyes closed, as if expecting a kiss.
I never gave it.
My hand tightened in her hair and locked her in place. She’d risked her safety to march through the snow and destroy me. She’d left me without a backward glance. She’d lured me to bed and got my eyes to close, and then she stabbed me in the darkness. I gave this woman everything—and she gave me nothing.
Her eyes opened, revealing trepidation. They trembled slightly as she looked into my eyes, the fear setting in when she realized there would be no kiss, no embrace. Her words had fallen on deaf ears.
I squeezed her hair tighter, wanting to push her into the road and leave her there. My eyes burned with a hatred I couldn’t sheathe. I wanted to abandon her the way she’d abandoned me, leave her out there on her own without anyone to protect her. She’d hit me where it hurt the most—and I wanted to do the same to her.
Her hand moved to my forearm, and she gripped it like a lifeline, her cold skin melting like snow at my heat. Despite my rage, she continued to cling to me, prepared to latch on when I threw her on her ass.
That was all it took to bring me back, to change my mind in a split second. “Tu m’aimes?” You love me?
She seemed to understand me because she gave a nod.
That wasn’t enough for me. I tugged on her hair tighter. “Oui?” Yes?
Her answer left her lips with emotion. “Oui.” Yes.
My eyes seared into her face, branding her as mine once again. “Then prove it.”
Seven
Cold Shoulder
Melanie
I slept in the apartment alone.
I packed the few things that I had and prepared to be picked up in the morning.
Life as I knew it would be forever changed tomorrow. Once I left this place, I wouldn’t be Melanie ever again.
As with every night since Raven had left, I could hardly sleep. It wasn’t just the fact that she was gone. It was the fact that I was alone, footsteps from strangers audible on the other side of my doorstep, the sounds of the cars and ambulances loud from the street outside my window.
The only sound I heard at the palace was the fireplace.
The next morning, I sat on the couch with my packed bag beside me. My hands were in my lap and my shoulders slumped, waiting for whoever Fender sent to retrieve me. Footsteps came a moment later, belonging to a single man.
I inhaled a deep breath and waited for them to step inside. I’d left the door unlocked.
A knock sounded. “Melanie?”
I recognized that voice immediately, like I still listened to it every single day. “Gilbert? It’s open.” I rose to my feet and grabbed my bag.
He let himself inside, dressed in jeans and a shirt.
I stilled at his appearance because all I’d ever seen him in was a tuxedo or his pajamas. Sunglasses hung down the front of his shirt, and his snug jeans fit his hard body like a glove.
He took a step inside, and with his typical snootiness, he examined the apartment with obvious disapproval. He moved to the kitchen island, dragged his finger across the surface, and then turned it over to see the dark smudge of dirt there. He rubbed his fingers together to remove it. “Charming…”
I approached with my arms raised, eager to hug him even though I’d never hugged him before. I moved into his chest and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I missed you.”
He didn’t return the embrace. After a few seconds, he grabbed my bag off my shoulder and stepped back. “Is that everything?” He scanned the apartment with disdain, like he hoped all I would take was this single bag of items, and if he had it his way, probably not even that.
“Yeah.”
He turned to the door then stopped when he spotted a small drop of blood on the wall near the baseboards. He turned to me and gave me a headshake of disapproval.
“That wasn’t me—”
“Let’s go.” He led me out of the apartment and to the blacked-out SUV parked at the curb. There was a driver in the front who didn’t say a word as we got inside. He silently pulled into traffic and drove toward the palace.
We sat in silence the whole way, Gilbert sitting against the opposite window with his elbow on the armrest. His fingers rested against his jawline as he surveyed the buildings and then the countryside.