Page 67 of Whispers of Wisteria
Titus leaned over me, hands pressing against the desk on either side of my knees as he lowered his face level with mine. “Something’s bothering you.”
Well, better now than never.
I touched my fingers together in my lap, trying to stop my hands from shaking. “I’ll go to the house,” I said, feeling small. “Will that help?”
His arms tensed, and when he spoke, his voice was unreadable. “What house?”
My stomach knotted. Why did I have to explain?
“Mr. R-R-Richards…” A shiver shot down my spine; even his name felt evil to say. “M-Maria said you might need h-help…”
Titus didn’t reply, and I remained unable to look at anything other than his torso, so I had no idea what sort of expression he might be sporting. The top two buttons of his white dress shirt were unbuttoned, and a thick gold chain hung around his neck. And it was the strangest thing. Despite having basically seenhim naked, I must not have been paying attention. How could I not have noticed the light covering of fuzz over his chest? Dark brown stood stark against sun-kissed skin. It was lovely to look at: not too much hair, not entirely bare.
“You’re so confusing,” he said finally.
I did look up then. “Why?”
Wait, I’d forgotten—it could happen at any time. “Can you read my mindnow?” My skin grew uncomfortably warm at the thought.
“No.” I couldn’t quite make out what he was thinking from his features, but there was a hint of red shadowing the green of his eyes. “I don’t need to. But I do think Miles and Damen are right.”
Why in the world were we talking about Miles and Damen?
Not that I minded. I liked them both a lot. But the boys had that weird rivalry: They didn’t want to talk about each other when alone with me.
“You try to find a distraction when you’re upset,” Titus answered.
Oh.
I remembered that theory. Miles had thought he was onto something, but he was wrong. And Damen had been so very cocky about it too.
How dare they tell the others this very incorrect thing.
They could be so assuming sometimes.
And why wouldn’t Titusneedto read my mind?
Titus touched my chin, holding my face firmly. The red grew deeper as he said, “You’re not going anywhere near that house.”
Excuse me? Indignation began to stir in my stomach. “Yes, I am.”
His features tightened. “No, you’re not.”
How dare he try to manage my recovery. That’s what they’d all been going on about, right? That I should deal with this. He should be happy. “You can’t stop me.”
“You’re not ready!” He dropped his hand from my face, slamming his palm against the top of the table. “You can’t even say his name.”
My blood was hot, racing through me. “Eric Richards, Eric Richards, Eric Richards.”
“He’s not ‘Bloody Mary,’” he muttered. “That would be too easy.”
I ignored him. “I want to help!”
“The only reason you’re not scared right now is because you’re angry at me.”
“I’m not angry.” I huffed, crossing my arms. That was preposterous. I was entirely in charge of my emotions.
His mouth thinned, and his eyes flashed. “Yes, you are.”
