Page 162 of Pride: The Rogue
He gave a big nod. “Her stick made her sad.”
The trio comprised of her two sisters and small nephew stared all the harder at Livian.
“Yes, well,” Livian said, striving for breeziness, “as you know, art has never been my greatest talent.”
Except, she instantly regretted that admission as her family took that as an invitation to join her.
Marching his way back over, James scooped up Livian’s page and shook it at his mother. “Her stick looks good to me.”
As Verity and Billy silently scrutinized her work, Livian bit the inside of her lower lip. They were both clever enough to gather the meaning of the picture.
It was all Livian could do to meet their knowing gazes.
While both women made a show of studying it, Livian couldn’t keep herself from shifting back and forth.
“Well, I for one, believe it is a fine branch,” Verity praised from behind the page.
“Thank you,” Livian mumbled under her breath.
Not that she need answer. The other women were quite fine carrying on all by themselves.
“Don’t you agree?” Verity asked Billy.
“Oh, yes.” Catching her chin between thumb and forefinger, Billy gave it a longer look. “It tells a story, does it not?”
“Yes!” Verity exclaimed. “That is what I was just thinking.”
“Hmm,” Billy murmured.
Refusing to let them get a rise out of her, Livian folded her arms at her chest and stared mutinously ahead.
All the while, James, too young to pick up on sarcasm, swung his little gaze back and forth between his aunt and mother. Apparently tired at last of the discussion over his aunt’s artwork, he returned to the floor and resumed working on his sketch.
“Why…this is not just a stick,” Verity cried out like she’d just discovered fire. “It appears to be an enormous branch the storm broke loose, and it fell here, on what looks to be—”
“A road!” Billy cried out.
Livian snatched the sheet back from both of them. “I am so happy you’re having fun at my,”misery, “expense,” she gritted out instead.
As if roused by the tension sweeping the room, James stirred.
Making soft, soothing noises, Billy rocked the babe back to sleep. “Livvie, we are not—”
“He’s not worth this,” Billy said bluntly, catching Livian off-balance with unexpectedly forthright punch.
Verity gave a nervous laugh. “Billy—”
“What? He isn’t. I met the fellow. He clearly cared about Livian, but not enough.”
A fresh spike found its way through Livian’s now always-aching heart.
Verity sighed. “So much for subtle, Billy.”
“Yes, well, we’ve all done enough tiptoeing here. We’ve allowed Livian to grieve, but we are not doing her any favors by allowing her to suffer over a bloody dolt too stupid to realize he’s found the best thing in his sorry existence.”
Seeming to suddenly remember her presence, Billy looked at Livian. “You’re better off without him.”
Such were just assurances made to make women with broken hearts feel better. Nothing, however, could. Not really.
