Page 200 of Swallow Your Sorries

“Gant—”

“You’re trying to stop things from growing between us now because you can’t see past Beaulieu’s gates. You can’t see a future. But your heart does, even though your mind’s trying to steer it away and save it from a world of pain you see heading your way. That’s what you’re so worried about, your heart.”

She just stares at me until a blink brings her back to reality. “Maybe you’d have a point if I actually love—”

I grab her chin and press a kiss to her lips to stop her from talking. To stop the jerking in my chest and the twisting in my intestines every time she says those horrible words. “I don’t want to hear how you don’t love me ever again.”

“Why? Because it hurts?” she mocks.

“It hurts you too. Telling the truth. I saw the pain in your eyes when you told me the truth about everything weeks ago. About the leak. About my mother. I knew it then, but I refused to accept it.”

“So you see how selfish you are?”

I shake my head slowly. “I’ve always seen it. It’s the main reason I refuse to let you go.” I reach for her and pull her wet, warm body against mine, squeezing her tight. I want to feel her heartbeat through her tits. I want to feel all of her. “I can teach you. How to be selfish. How not to worry about the real world, at least while we’re in our so-called bubble.”

“I don’t have the privilege even in our bubble. The play just reminded me of that. Reminded me that I’m wasting time playing this stupid game with you. I need to concentrate.”

“Didn’t I help you concentrate during our private lessons?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“You, us, this, it’s distracting.”

I take her hand and she lets me, though she doesn’t hold mine back. “There are other plays. I’ll make sure you get that leading role in the Christmas production.”

She’s about to protest, but I cut her off.

“Not through schemes. Through your own talents. Mistress Errard has already seen your potential after just two months of private lessons with me. What do you think will happen when there are two more months left until the Christmas play? When there’s four more until the spring play? When there’s nine more months until the midsummer’s eve play?”

I can tell she’s thinking it over in her mind.

“What do you want in return? Because I know you want something, and I already told you I’m not fucking you.”

She’s still protecting herself.

“That’s fine. You have something else that I want.”

“Just as badly?”

She wants me to want it badly. Just as badly as she does.

“I wish I could answer that,” I say. “It should be clear, but it isn’t.”

She swallows.

“You said you’d help me find the driver. My mother’s killer. No one’s seen his face but you, so you’ll identify him for me. We find the car, him, and I’ll ensure those scouts see you front and centre.”

I can see the gears in her mind turning.

“But I said I’d help you anyway.”

“This way you won’t change your mind and back out.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“Just like how you didn’t back out of our first interlude?”

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