Page 77 of Silent Oaths
Islip in behind her, finally allowing myself to rest next to a woman who has not only caught my attention, but my heart.
28
ISABEL
Adull ache lingers in my limbs asIstir awake, my body heavy, unwilling to move.Myhead feels clouded, thick with exhaustion and the remnants of whatever they drugged me with, making it difficult to pull the scattered pieces of last night back together.ButIremember enough.
I’min my bed.
No.Notmy bed.
Mylips press together asIforce my eyes open, blinking against the morning light filtering through the curtains.Theroom is familiar, but it doesn’t belong to me.Itnever has.TheWhitmoreestate isn’t my home, no matter how many nightsI’vespent trapped within its walls, no matter how my body sinks into the mattress like it remembers the shape of me.
Still, the sheets are warm.Thescent ofTheodorelingers—on my skin, in the air, woven into the fabric around me.Ashiver prickles down my spine.Ibarely remember him bringing me here, tucking me in, his body molding to mine as if it had always been meant to.ButIdo remember the way he looked at me: likeIbelonged to him.
Mystomach twists.Ishouldn’t have let it happen.
Yet, when he told meIwas his, when he touched me like he meant it,Ibroke.
Isqueeze my eyes shut, swallowing against the shame creeping in.
Aknock at the door pulls me from my spiraling thoughts.BeforeIcan even process it,Julian’svoice follows.
“Youready?”
Igroan, yanking the covers over my head.Mybody protests the movement, aching in waysIdon’t want to acknowledge. “I’llbe out in ten,”Imutter into the pillow.
Asoft chuckle drifts through the door.
Hisfootsteps retreat, butIdon’t move right away.Instead,Iburrow deeper beneath the blankets, inhalingTheodore’slingering scent from last night.
WhenIfinally make my way downstairs and seeJulian, the memories of him andMaxwelltrickle in, on their knees before me, making out, their hands on my skin, their mouths on my body.
Iswallow hard.
Julianglances up from where he’s leaning against the counter, then silently hands me a steaming travel mug of coffee.Inhis other hand, he holds a muffin, golden brown and slightly misshapen.
Iarch a brow asItake it. “Didyou make this?”
“Yeah.”
Aslow smile tugs at my lips. “Thankyou.”
Juliandoesn’t respond, but the corner of his mouth twitches.
BeforeIcan take a bite, a familiar chuckle cuts through the air.
“How’dyou sleep?”
Maxwellappears out of nowhere, his eyes gleaming.
Heatcreeps up my neck, andIforce my expression into something neutral. “Itwas fine.”
Hissmirk deepens, andIdon’t miss the way his gaze roves over me, reading between the lines.
Julianstays quiet, sipping his coffee, but his posture is stiff.
Ibreak off a piece of the muffin, shoving it into my mouth just to keep myself from saying anything else.
