Page 30 of Veiled Yearning

But I can’t. I can’t face anyone.

“Chiara, please—”

No. I can’t be here. No one understands.

I just want to be alone.

11

Secret Shame

GAVRIL

In Chiara’s absence, an uncomfortable silence fills the room.

A glance around the table shows a quartet of unhappy expressions. Clenched jaws, furrowed brows, and lips pressed into firm lines. Eyes filled with regret and sympathy.

“Dammit.” Frederick scowls at Larkin. “Why did you push her like that? We discussed this.”

A heavy weight settles on my chest; squeezing. Anger simmers, but it’s tempered by guilt. Larkin shouldn’t have done that. But I should have put an end to it sooner.

Part of me wants to leap up and go after her. To apologize for not protecting her. Not from physical harm this time, but Chiara was hurt, just the same. I can’t stop seeing the tortured look in her eyes, remembering the tiny quiver in her voice, feeling her hand shaking under mine…

Part of me wants to comfort her, in whatever way she’ll let me.

But will she even talk to me after I let her down so badly?

I promised Chiara it would be okay. Not that she’d end being reduced to no more than a weapon to be used. Not that she’d be so upset, she’d end up nearly in tears, on the verge of a panic attack.

Dammit. I failed her again.

But Larkin. Glaring at him, I snap, “Why did you have to keep at her? You know what she’s been through already.”

He hesitates, then sighs heavily. Self-recrimination tinges his voice. “I shouldn’t have. In my excitement, I got carried away. But you’re right. I should never have treated Chiara like that.”

My response is biting. “No. You shouldn’t have. She came here to help us, and so far, she’s been attacked, and now this? I wouldn’t blame her if she wanted to leave.”

“I didn’t attack her,” Larkin protests, frowning. “Yes, I was insensitive, and I’m sorry about that. I’ll apologize—”

My anger boils over. “You called Chiara a weapon. How do you think that made her feel?”

Frederick interjects. “This isn’t accomplishing anything.” Ever the mediator, his tone is pacifying. “Chiara is upset, and we need to fix it. Explain that she’s not going to be pressured into anything.”

“Maybe I should apologize to her,” Larkin suggests.

Frederick shakes his head. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I think it would be better to wait until she’s calmed down. I can go talk to her—”

“No.” I should be the one going to see Chiara. Apologizing. Making sure she’s alright. I’m not sure exactly why, but it feels necessary. Pushing away from the table, I announce, “I’ll talk to Chiara.”

Frederick’s eyebrows jump up. “Are you sure?”

Knight coughs. “Gavril? Comforting a woman?”

“Yes.” I narrow my eyes at Knight, daring him to argue. “I’m sure.”

And before they can question me further, I leave the room. Searching for Chiara, hurrying across the house toward her room; not running, but not walking, either.

At least, I’m assuming she went to her room, though it’s not a given. She could have gone to the library, the solarium, any one of the five empty bedrooms—there are dozens of places Chiara could be. She likes the living room, with the giant stone fireplace, but I don’t think she’d want to be out in the open like that.

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