Page 87 of Blind Prophet

What did I do?

I did what I wanted.

Or did I?

He’s always possessed an uncanny ability to weaken my walls and reshuffle my priorities.

Why open myself up?

Why risk rupturing old wounds?

At least I cleared his father’s name. The senior Moore is definitely not the one causing issues or playing Prophet. And neither is Dorian.

It might be the Russians. They’re experts at deception, creating doubt and discord. And they’re also the country that benefits the most from the disintegration of the EU and the United States.

Dorian is allowing the world to believe his father is still functioning. Is someone taking advantage of his father’s deteriorating mental capacity? Setting him up? But for what?

I drop my clothes on the floor in a messy pile and slide into the water. I whip my hair into a self-tied bun and rest my head on the back of the tub for a view into a starless sky.

There’s a soft rap on the door.

“Come in.”

The door cracks open, and Dorian peers in.

“The tub in my bathroom is better.”

“I’m sure it is.”The master suite is always the best.

“You should move your things to my bedroom.”

“Is that so?” I smile, but he frowns.

“Why are you bathing before dinner? Do you need to wash yourself of me?”

The unexpected vulnerability catches me off guard.

“I was chilled. And this is quite the setup.” He doesn’t look convinced. “Care to join me?”

His expression shifts, the hard lines around his eyes softening. For a moment, he looks almost like the man I met so many years ago—less guarded, a hint of surprise in his eyes as if he hadn’t expected the invitation. The corner of his mouth lifts in a half smile, erasing years of practiced stoicism.

He sets two fluffy white towels on the counter’s edge near the tub and undresses.

“Which end do you want me?”

I slide forward, making room for him. Perhaps it would be best to have him across from me, at a distance, so we could talk while facing each other, but my preference is to rest against his chest.

Water sloshes over the tub as he gets in, but neither of us cares. It’s a wet bathroom, designed for mess.

It takes a minute for us to get settled, for his legs to form to the sides of the tub, and for me to find a comfortable spot in front of him, but once I’m settled in his arms, the confusion from earlier dissipates, replaced by a sense of peace.

He presses his lips to the side of my head and tightens his hold.

“There’s one question that keeps me up at night.” His breath tickles my ear.

“What’s that?” I rest my head against his shoulder, peering up for a profile view of his deep-set eyes and dark, thick eyebrows.

“I gave you everything I could. Everything I had the power to give. But it wasn’t enough. You weren’t happy. What did you need that I didn’t give?”

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