A Million Different Ways (Horn Duet 1)

“So what will you do? When you’re not working. Have you thought about it?” Charlotte’s face was a funny mix of curiosity and apprehension. She kept watching the open doorway for Mr. Bentifourt.

“I don’t know,” I answered, uncertainty written all over my face.

“Will you live here with him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does his mother know?”

“I don’t know,” I repeated with a pinch of my brow. His mother…crap. I had studiously avoided thinking about her.

“Well what do you know?” she asked, two apostrophes marking the confusion on her brow.

“I don’t know anything, Charlotte…except that I love him and I don’t want anything to harm or embarrass him in any way. But Sebastian is as stubborn as a mule and won’t listen to reason.”

Charlotte’s frown melted into a wistful smile. “You love each other, that’s all that matters.”

“You sound as impractically romantic as Sebastian.”

“Who the hell would have thought that that man was a romantic.” She shook her head, muttering, “Never in a million years.”

“I asked him about that,” I said, a smile threatening to bust wide open.

“About what?”

“About why he’s so standoffish with you.”

“And?”

“And he said…his words exactly, ‘because every time she sees me, she looks at me like I just took a shit on her favorite shoes’.”

One look at Charlotte’s shocked expression and I erupted in laughter.

“That’s not true!” She stood up and slammed the counter with her fist, the silverware jangling. I remained silent while her mind chewed on that for a while. “Well, maybe it’s a little bit true. Just a tiny amount.” I said nothing. “Okay, maybe he’s right,” she finally admitted and sat back down.

“I suggest you both make an effort to know each other better since you’ll probably be in each others company more often.”

Her gaze caught mine. “We can still be friends then?” she asked, a sweet, shy uncertainty in her voice.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course we’re still friends. Nothing has changed between us, Charlotte. The only thing that’s changed is the room I’m sleeping in,” I clarified, and squeezed her hand in reassurance. “Speaking of change, Ben will be back this weekend.”

She stiffened instantly.

“Would you please explain why you two can’t be in the same room without scratching each other’s eyes out. What the hell is going on?”

Charlotte’s lips pursed. “I just don’t like him.”

“You’re sticking with that excuse?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, let me know when you’re ready to talk about it.”

Tipping her face down, she inspected a silver fork as if it were the long lost eighth wonder of the world.

Chapter Thirty-Four

By midnight, I was seriously worried. I hadn’t heard from him since he had texted me at six saying he would be home late. The text was terse––that was unlike him. Instinctively, I knew something was wrong, my mind conjuring a million dreadful scenarios as I lay in his bed staring at the ceiling. For a fleeting moment, it crossed my mind that he was playing some stupid, vengeful game. Maybe he was trying to teach me a lesson about how nerve wracking it is to be kept wondering. But I knew we were past playing games. That’s what worried me the most.

I put on my silk robe and headed downstairs, determined to find out more. I figured Ben would know something. And if he didn’t, I was going to throw him out of bed and send him to retrieve my missing lover.

As my foot hit the last step of the marble staircase, I noticed a dim light escaping under the door of the library. Once inside, I shut the door quietly behind me and walked towards the windows. There was a funny flutter in the pit of my stomach as I passed the last of the bookcases…and then I found him.

Something was very wrong.

His shirt was crumpled, his sleeves rolled up, and his tie hung loose. He was slumped forward with his head in his hands, gripping his hair tightly by the roots. Goosebumps exploded on my skin. The space was filled with a miasma of emotion so dense that I had trouble breathing. He looked up abruptly, his golden eyes locking onto mine, and my heart froze.

His face was ravaged with pain, his eyes haunted. He was that wounded creature again, the one I had met months ago. My gaze shot to the glass of liquor by his feet…Oh God.

I willed my legs to work, to walk over to him. Moving slowly, afraid to startle him, I sat down and reached up to brush the hair near his ear back. He squeezed his eyes shut, his large body shuddering as if it pained him.

“What’s wrong, darling? Talk to me,” I whispered. And then waited for what felt like an excruciatingly long amount of time until he spoke in a broken, rough-hewn voice.

“Interpol came to see me at the office today.” His hands clenched into tight fists. He looked like he was preparing himself for some imaginary battle. My heart beat viciously. I thought the force of it would split my chest open.