Before Angus shut the door, I slid forward on the seat.
"Where is he? I need to see him.
Please."
"He called."
Angus's face was kind, which made me start crying again.
"I'm taking you to him now."
"Is he okay?" "I don't know."
I pushed back into the seat, feeling physically ill.
I barely paid attention to where we were headed, my only thought being that I needed to explain.
I needed to tell Gideon that I loved him, that I'd never leave him if he'd still have me, that he was the only man I wanted, the only man who set my blood on fire.
Eventually, the car slowed and I looked out, realizing we'd returned to the amphitheater.
As I peered out the window, searching for him, the door behind me opened, startling me, and I shifted around to see Gideon duck inside and settle on the opposite bench from me.
I lurched toward him.
"Gideon - " "Don't."
His voice whipped with anger, sending me recoiling and falling on my rear.
The limo set into motion, jostling me.
Crying, I watched him pour a glass of amber liquor at the bar and toss it back.
I waited on the floorboards, my stomach churning with fear and grief.
He refilled his glass before shutting the bar and dropping back in his seat.
I wanted to ask him if Brett was okay or badly hurt.
I wanted to ask how Gideon was, if he was injured or fine.
But I couldn't.
I didn't know if he would take the questions the wrong way and assume my concern for Brett meant more than it did.
His face was impassive, his eyes hard as sapphires.
"What is he to you?" I swiped at the tears streaming down my face.
"A mistake."
"Then? Or now?" "Both."
His lip curled in a sneer.
"You always kiss your mistakes like that?" My chest heaved as I tried to stem the need to sob.
I shook my head violently.