Page 56 of Toxic

"Come in," she calls out.

I open the door, step inside, and shut it.

Books and papers cover Fiona's bed. She glances up. Her face falls, turning to stone.

My heart stammers, hating every part of that look. Until my father made a deal with Killian and dismantled the situation I carefully crafted over the years, Fiona always beamed at me.

"What do you want?" she asks.

I swallow the lump in my throat, walk across the room, and carefully sit on the bed. "How are you doing?"

She tilts her head, her eyes throwing blueish-green daggers so sharp, my insides quiver. "Fine. Can you leave now?"

"We need to talk."

"Are you going to tell me why you lied to us all these years?" she snaps.

I reach for her hand.

She tugs it back, ordering, "Don't touch me."

I freeze, my hand mid-air, blinking hard to control my emotions. I slowly retreat and softly say, "I understand you're mad at me. I'm sorry I had to do what I did, but it was the right thing to do."

Her eyes widen, and her voice gets louder. "Stop claiming that unless you're going to tell me why you did it."

I stare at the ceiling, breathing deeply several times, then finally refocus on her. "I'll never tell you. It's for your safety. But everything I've ever done is out of love."

She huffs. "Then I have nothing to say. Are you going to leave, or do I need to?" Defiance like I've never seen on her fills her expression.

Every bit of that look radiates hate, anger, and confusion. Her struggle with what I've done is my fault. I created all of it. The cyclone of pain I've caused, and continue to, eats at me further.

She jumps off the bed and picks up her books. "Guess I'm leaving."

Accepting defeat, I rise. "No. I'll go."

She crosses her arms, holding her books tight to her chest. She gives me another hardened stare.

I resist reaching out and hugging her. I've never gone so long not embracing my children. The last few weeks, agony's clawed at my gut until it's raw. All I want to do is stop the onslaught of suffering I'm causing my children. But I can never tell them my reasons for what I've done. I'll go to my grave with the horror of what happened to their father and me the night of his death. And I'll never disclose what Niall and Shamus instructed me to do before I left Chicago.

"I love you. You may never understand why I did what I did, but nothing will ever change how much I love you," I assert.

She doesn't flinch and continues glaring at me.

I quietly leave her room then go into my suite. The events of last night, my current battle with my children, and my lack of sleep suddenly feel exhausting. I throw on Sean's T-shirt and slip under the covers. I shut my eyes, but I can't help wondering what Dante is saying to my son or if my kids will ever forgive me.

I can't blame them. My lack of disclosure would infuriate me if I were them.

And now I have Dante Marino trying to diffuse the situation.

That thought gives me too many mixed feelings. He seemed sincere, like he really wasn't out to harm me, but I know him too well. All the feelings I had for him as a teenager seemed to have resurfaced in the last day, making my head spin faster. Plus, Dante's history of having an attention span the size of a toddler's when it comes to women doesn't bring me any comfort.

I've been a challenge for him in the past. Everything about my time with him in the last twenty-four hours makes me nervous.

I'd love to trust him, but I'm not sure how. And part of me feels guilty I let Dante touch me. Sean's probably looking down on me, pissed off. While I know in my heart Sean would want me happy, he would remind me I'm walking right into Dante's clutches.

And how could being with Dante be so different from Sean, yet I loved every moment of it? Is it possible to enjoy two different men equally?

That thought creates another panic inside me. I shouldn't be comparing anything Sean and I had to Dante's and my night. Sean and I were real. Dante will disappear soon enough. I know too well how he is.

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