you said. Which tells me you didn’t call my brother to see your uncle.”
He reads me like a book. “No, not specifically. But he was there in the car when Lucas came to meet me. I thought we’d just talk at the café, but Lucas said he brought my uncle so I’d leave with him.” That’s half of the truth. I will omit the other half.
“What did my brother have to tell you?”
“You don’t answer any of my questions, Damian. I needed answers.”
“And you thought you could trust him to give them to you?”
“I don’t think I can trust either of you. Hell, I can’t trust any of you, not even my uncle. Every one of you will use me to get what you want.”
He doesn’t deny it but remains silent, waiting for me to continue.
“Do you know what I wanted to ask you about the other night?”
“What?”
“I wanted to ask you why you own my house.”
A blink out of rhythm is all that gives away his surprise. He is the master of schooling his features.
“Liam has a gift for finding out all kinds of things people don’t want you to know about them,” I say. “That’s what I wanted to ask you about before you humiliated me.”
“I apologized for that. I can’t go back in time and erase what happened.”
“No, you can’t. Why did you buy it?”
His forehead wrinkles and he takes a deep breath in then out before answering. “I don’t know, Cristina.”
“How can you not know?”
“Believe it or not, I wasn’t fully on board with what my father did to yours or the way he did it, but I don’t have an answer to your question. When I do, I promise to tell you.”
I don’t know why I believe him, I do though, and it loosens something inside me. Softens it.
But I can’t let that happen. I can’t soften.
I look away from him. I need space. I need to think. To steel myself.
“Did you tell Lucas about the house?” he asks.
“No.”
“Good. Don’t. What did he tell you that turned you against me overnight?”
“Do you really think he did that all by himself?”
“I’m trying to do right by you.”
“Are you?”
“Yes, I am. Now what did my brother tell you?”
“He told me about Annabel. About the accident.”
“I’m sure he painted a pretty picture.”
“He actually said it wasn’t your fault. He said your dad blamed you, but that you loved Annabel and you’d never hurt her.”
This seems to confuse him. It absolutely silences him for a long minute at least.
“Did you think I had hurt Annabel?” he asks appearing genuinely surprised.
I consider this, then look back at him. “No. Never.”
“Well, that’s something we can work with.”
“He said what you want is the foundation, Damian. At any cost.”
He studies me and when he doesn’t even try to deny what I’m saying, that twisting is back. It’s more like a fist in my chest now.
“Does your silence mean it’s true?” I ask.
“It’s complicated.”
“Like us?”
“Yeah, like us.”
I try for a chuckle, but it comes out choked. I need to get out of here and be alone for just a minute. Just long enough to lock these feelings away. Long enough that he won’t see what this is doing to me or how weak I am.
I get up, turning toward the bathroom.
“Sit back down. We’re not done.”
“I’m done. We’re done.” I feel the first sting of tears as I take a step away.
“I said sit back down.”
I don’t. I keep moving. And the instant he’s on his feet, I break into a run. It’s instinct. Fight or flight. I always choose flight.
“I said sit back down,” he says, grabbing my arm.
The instant he does, a sharp pain cuts through me, and I cry out.
We both stop, look at where he’s got hold of me, where I’m trying to pry him off.
“It hurts.”
He loosens his grip but steps closer, pushes the robe off my shoulder and brushes two fingers over the slightly raised skin. He peers closer.
“What is this?” he asks. “The skin’s hot.”
I look at it too, see the little hole the needle left, then try to pull my robe up before he sees it. “It must be a spider bite or something.”
When he presses on it, I suck in a hissing breath.
“We need to get it looked at. It might be infected.”
“It’s fine,” I say, trying to tug my arm free. “It’s nothing. It won’t hurt if you don’t grab me like you did.”
Commotion in the hallway has us both turning to the