“And I explained, my men will answer.”
“Okay, that’s great, but we have things to talk about regarding my future here and—”
He was back to interrupting me and he did it by saying, “And I explained that as well. We will talk when you reach Lunwyn, before you come to the estate.”
Was he crazy?
My understanding was that would be two freaking months from now.
“I’d like to do it now,” I requested carefully.
“And I don’t have time now,” he denied me, not carefully.
I took in a deep breath and held his eyes.
Then I shared, “It’s important, Apollo.”
“It’s important for me to get back to my children and make haste in getting them to safety. Your future here is secure. That’s all you need to know”—he paused— “for now. Now, I’m away.”
Was he serious?
He turned and started toward the door.
He was serious.
“Wait!” I called, going after him.
He didn’t wait.
He kept going.
I kept following, crying, “Apollo! Hang on a second!”
His legs were longer than mine so I had to jog to catch up.
This I did at the front door.
And when I did it, I made a mistake.
I said his name and wrapped my fingers around his bicep.
The instant I did, he pulled it forcefully from my touch, rearing back. And with my history, he did it appearing like he was preparing to strike
Instinctively, I lifted a hand in front of my face, palm toward him, and backed up, tripping on my train but managing to right myself before I went down. I yanked it from under me and took another step back, my eyes glued to him, my body prepared for anything.
I stopped moving back, suddenly breathing heavily. When I noticed he was not preparing to strike, I dropped my hand to press it to my chest.
Through all this, his eyes were also glued to me but I couldn’t read them.
And for some reason, we stood in the preposterously elegant foyer of his preposterously fabulous country house situated in the preposterously beautiful countryside of a parallel universe and we stared into each other’s eyes, not speaking. His thoughts were cloaked. Mine, I doubted, were the same.
Then he shared his thoughts.
And if his earlier comment was an insult that landed an invisible blow, this one delivered a kill shot.
“Be careful what you wish for,” he whispered, his eyes locked to mine as I drew in breath. “You might get it.” He put his hand to the doorknob and finished, “And not want it.”
Then he was gone.