Page 66 of Whispers of Wisteria
“Mostly,” she nodded. “The building has aged badly due to exposure. We can’t even get to some parts. And”—She gave me a steady look as she squeezed my hands, her confidence steadying me—“the scents are mostly faded. We’re the only ones who’ve been there.”
I felt dizzy with relief. How did she know what I was thinking?
“Okay.”
I didn’t even realize I’d agreed until her face lit up and her mouth widened into a bright smile. “That’s great,” she said, sounding genuinely pleased. “That’s really brave. You’ve come a long way.”
Really? Because I felt like throwing up.
I was not very brave at all.
“Let me tell Titus.” I bit my lip, looking at our joined fingers. If I was going to work on being brave, I should probably start with this.
He hadn’t come to me, which meant he was probably against it.
“Of course,” she said, placing my hands back into my lap. She gave them a comforting pet, then pulled back on the road. “Do you want to keep talking?”
No, although I hoped it wouldn’t offend her. We probablyshouldtalk, even if not about this. We still had to develop a believable cover story for our absence all day.
However, I wasn’t sure I could handle any manner of conversation. “Not right now.”
“Okay. I’ll be here if you want to, though.” She didn’t argue or try to make me feel bad about it. Instead, she switched the radio on, and we drove the rest of the way to Titus’s office.
11
Titus was sittingat his desk when we returned, and Maria left the two of us alone without prompting. I didn’t have to say anything—I had no time—before he looked up.
“Bianca?” He moved across the room and brushed his hand over my forehead. “Are you okay? Didn’t you have a good time with Maria?”
Sure. That wasn’t the problem.
“I like hanging out with Maria,” I told him. “We’re friends.”
His features tightened in confusion. “You’re upset.”
“Not about that,” I answered. “Or about anything that we did.” Which was also true. After all, I had no reason to be upset—nor feel guilty—about going to illegal fighting rings, or even Ernesto.
Titus frowned, and his gaze turned suspicious. “What did you two do?”
This was why we should have talked about our cover story, darn it. I should have wallowed later.
There was only one response that would deter a man. “Girl stuff.”
He narrowed his eyes. My response didn’t convince him, but he didn’t press the subject or ask again. And somehow, that was enough to ease the tension in my shoulders, at least a little.
It was rather nice not to be treated like an infant.
But then, the thing I’d been trying to ignore stabbed at me like the reopening of a barely healed wound.
I was going to go back.
I’d been avoiding this for ten years—since the first time they asked me.
“Bianca?” Titus was still frowning at me, and before I could pull away, he wrapped his hands around my waist, picked me up, and sat me on his desk. “Tell me why you’re upset.”
I internally groaned. The mere mention of something remotely girlish saved me when it was just Finn and me. But Titus—or any other man in my quintet—had not been swayed.
Was Finn just really weird?
