Absinthe glided forward, closing the gap between them before she could move, before she was aware, and caught her hand, opening her fingers and placing her palm over his heart. “You’re going to leave me after I tell you the terrible things I did, what I’m responsible for, but if that will stop you even for a few minutes, enough to give me the slightest chance, I’ll take the chance.”
He didn’t know what the hell he was saying. He really didn’t. He was out of his mind to think he could reveal to her what he’d never told another soul. So much guilt and shame, so many sins weighing down his soul. He was ashamed that Savage thought he was “the best of them.” He was the worst. He was the monster, not Savage. He despised when others thought that of his brother. Savage bore the brunt of Absinthe’s sins, because outwardly, Savage appeared to be the “monster.” Absinthe knew who the real one was.
Scarlet’s green eyes moved over his face, assessing the risk in that way she had. Processing. It wasn’t in her nature just to take that leap off the cliff as she’d done with him when she’d come to him and then married him. Now, he could see, she was going to be much more careful. He’d done that—pushed her back to her wary nature. Broken the trust he’d built between them. He’d put Savage before her. He’d put Savage in the position of having to frighten her and clearly things had gone terribly wrong. He needed to find out what, but first he had to talk to her and hope she listened to him and cared enough to stick around.
She turned her hand around and threaded her fingers through his so she was holding his hand, but when he tried to touch her mind on that connection between them, her mind was closed to his. She had already figured out a way to shut him out. He knew he could find another pathway, but that would be intrusive and also, in a way, another form of betrayal. He wouldn’t do that unless he had no choice. He wanted a relationship with her, a real one. If they were going to survive, she had to know the real Absinthe and accept him, just as she accepted his need of a pet kitten in his bedroom. He couldn’t imagine anyone, let alone a woman as strong as Scarlet, accepting him and the things he’d done, but he had to try. He’d already lost her. He refused to be a coward, and that was what it would amount to if he didn’t just come clean. In a way, it would be a relief that someone knew the real truth.
They walked together down the hall and back to the main part of the house, to the living room. When he went to the fireplace to warm the room for her, she took the remote from his hand.
“I don’t need that on right now. I’d rather sit with just the light coming in from the moon and the sea. I like the way it appears silver.”
Absinthe liked that effect as well. The moonlight reflected off the surface of the water and poured through the wall of floor-to-ceiling glass. Scarlet curled up in the wide armchair Lana had chosen for him. There was always a feeling of comfort in Lana’s furniture the moment one settled into it, and he could see that once Scarlet tucked her bare feet under her, she was much more relaxed in spite of herself and the seriousness of the situation.
He went to the bar and pulled out two icy glass bottles of water, trying not to notice how the shape and feel of those bottles reminded him of how sexy it felt when he pressed one into his little kitten’s heat. He opened a bottle for her first and set it on the table between the chairs before opening his and taking a long drink. He hadn’t donned a shirt and he pressed the icy bottle first to his forehead and then to his chest, trying to relieve the feeling of feverish heat sweeping through him.
It took a few minutes before he could force himself to sink into the chair beside Scarlet, and immediately there was a lightening of his heart, an easing of his burden, and he recognized Lana’s gift. She had said she had no gift, but there it was, and no one, including him, had ever managed to put their finger on it, when it was right there in plain sight. She eased that heavy load they all carried. She put herself into the furniture she chose, into the clothes she mended for them, the patches she stitched on their vests or jackets. He would have to tell her so she knew what a miracle she was. When he needed her the most, she’d come through for him.