Chapter 34
Our limo ride home was filled with nothing but silence. Thick, impenetrable quiet that would have been impossible for anything to cut through.
Considering that, my doubts for any conversation should be blowing through the top of a militarily grade bomb shelter by now—but there was something that gave me hope.
The way he held me.
For the entirety of the drive, his right hand was draped across my shoulders while his left continuously rubbed up and down my thigh. The connection felt distressed, and I don’t think Grant is trying to keep anything from me since he’s yet to do that with me. For the first time since meeting him, though, I think I can feel his fear.
Possibly of me being revolted by this truth. He knows I like the story of his evolution into the kind of man who has no problem making threats and following through when he’s crossed. And I’ve witnessed what he’s capable of. But commanding the sun and taking human life are not of the same gravity.
And as we relax in bed, on our usual sides, reading, I know tonight I’m the one who is going to have to bridge the silence.
Grant always tells me to never hide, and while my heart understands that’s not what he’s doing, he’s also avoiding the full-blown light of the obvious. I’m going to have to work tonight to bring the truth out.
I start by placing my book down and resting my eyes on him.
He doesn’t move, but the stillness gives everything away. He’s frozen, fairly unusual for him, as he’s not even flexing his fist while reading.
When I’ve decided he’s going to remain that way, I move to the second part of my plan.
I twist the upper part of my torso and face him more directly. “It was a good event, huh?”
His head jerks up, and while the singularly arched brow should paint him as annoyed, I know better.
“Hmm.” He nods, pinches his lips together, and diverts his attention away.
“You were right,” I say, staring up at him through my lashes. “I felt very safe tonight. Safer than I have in a long time.”
His traps stiffen and a thin vein pops out on his neck. The setup is enough—he knows I’m going to prod.
“Grant…?”
A shift in his eyes happens. They look dull now, which is such a contrast. All that usually glimmers in his gaze when we’re in this room is an inviting warmth and softness.
After forcing myself to swallow around the cotton round that’s suddenly popped up in my throat, I force myself to continue.
“Grant, I have to ask. Did you have Seth killed?”
He exhales, loud and hard, to the point where I feel the anxiety he must be experiencing. My lungs are pressing tight against each other, and I can’t breathe.
And as he squeezes his eyes shut and pinches his brows together, I finally know.
He did kill Seth for me. Now, will he admit it?
“I don’t want to lie to you.” I hate the shakiness in his voice—this isn’t my Grant.
“Then don’t lie,” I whisper.
“Let me ask you this ... If-if I were to say yes, would it alter how you feel about me?”
It should—I know it should—but it doesn’t.
My heart slows, beating at the most serene rate it has in years.
“No.”
“Fuck.”The word hits the air with so much weight, Grant could be shouting it. He sighs, sinking into the pillows behind him and rakes his fingers through his hair. “I thought murder might be your limit. I didn’t want to keep this from you, but I thought I really fucked this all up. I thought—”
“I know.” I barely hear myself, but I don’t stop. “And I feel like this is so wrong—so twisted and sick … but—”
“But?” His hand grazes mine.
I look up at him, my heart beating so hard the tempo thrums down my arms. “But you had him killed because of me, so frankly, I can’t hate that.”
His mouth drops open, but he looks pleased, happy even, as he chuckles with what sounds like undeniable relief, and the sweet sound breaks open the rest of my secrets.
“I think now is a good time to tell you…” I begin, then hesitate. A pause lingers as I swallow, trying to form all the right words in my head.
“That?” he prods, adjusting himself to be closer to me.
“That I was married, Grant. My legal name is Vivian Tinley. I married my high school sweetheart… my husband was the one who Lonnie killed. Five years ago, Lonnie broke into our home while I was at work and stabbed Will to death. He got away with it.”
“Good God. I was right. You are the girl from the television ad.”
I nod, a ripple of pain shooting straight through my chest. “You looked me up?”
A sharp breath sucks down his lungs and the sound of it settles deeply in my stomach. “Yes. Does that upset you?”
“Of course not,” I say, a sad, understanding smile passing over my mouth. “I would have done the same.”
“My information was limited, but I did figure out who you were. And for everything else … You told me about the murder, but who it was … that I didn’t know.” He sighs. “I’m so sorry, Olivia…” He pauses, slightly his head tilting. “You do like Olivia, right? Would you rather be called Vivian—”