Page 57 of Bed of Thorns

“Nothing is wrong. There’s something I need to know. Did William Villanova hurt you?”

“Why would you ask me that question now?”

He lifted his head, staring up at the sky. “You’ve had a few nights of fitful sleep.”

A chill skated down my spine. “I’m sorry if I interrupted your sleep.”

Exhaling, he slowed, pulling us both to a stop. “I couldn’t give a shit about sleep. What happened? You need to be honest with me. It’s obvious whatever he said or did haunts you.”

“He can’t hurt me.”

“Mercedes. He’s a powerful man with even more influential connections. You have no idea who his father is.”

I knew exactly who his father was, but given his clenched jaw, I knew whatever he was insinuating had another meaning. I lifted my head so I could see into his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

He took a gulp of champagne, his eyes suddenly unfocused. “His father is very influential, capable of bringing corporations and men to their knees, which he’s done several times.”

“Okay. I know that. His father is a senator. So?”

“So whatever William said to you should be taken seriously.”

It was hard to comprehend what he was telling me. I looked away, thinking about the run-in I’d had as well as the recent dreams. “I don’t know how to explain what happened. William came to my house. I thought he was threatening me, but he was warning me instead. Why?”

“What did he say?”

“That I could never hide fromthem. Thattheywould find me. He never explained who ‘they’ were. He was acting crazy, almost like he was drunk but that wasn’t what terrified me. It was the extreme fear in his eyes.”

“You should have told me sooner.”

His tone was more demanding, holding a hint of anger. “Then what, Edmond? What would you have done? He means nothing right now. I understand why you hate him, but if you can’t get over the past, you’re never going to have the future you want.”

“We want.”

Sighing, I looked away. There was no arguing with him when he got to this point.

“Why would he bother to warn you?”

His question was laced with more questions than I cared to answer but carrying the burden of continuing to lie to him wasn’t in our best interest. “Because I went out on one date with him a year before that.”

His lack of response was more difficult than spitting out the truth. I sensed he was watching me, but I couldn’t force myself to look into his eyes. It seemed I’d betrayed him again. This time I’d expected his response, his body stiffening before he turned on his heel, storming back toward the house. I cringed from the realization I’d rocked his world, the man far too volatile. I wanted to slink away, hiding myself until he was finished with wallowing in guilt and anger, but that wouldn’t solve anything.

He knew more about what was going on than he was willing to tell and that was no longer acceptable. I lifted my glass as the sun dipped into the water, angry for several reasons, most of which could never be expressed. I didn’t have the bandwidth to do so at this point. I’d been on a precipice with him, the whirlwind of the last few weeks driving me closer and closer to the edge. Whatever demons continued to hold him captive had locked me in a similar cell as the one he’d been forced into for years.

I couldn’t take it any longer.

By the time I reached the house, my heart was in my throat, my own fury close to the surface. How dare he treat me like I didn’t deserve a life. We hadn’t been promised to each other. Hell, we’d been kids for a little while, pretending our combined household was a creation of magic when violence and disruption remained just below the surface.

That’s why we’d clung to each other, forging a different make-believe world that could never come true. I moved into the house, determined to confront him, hissing when I noticed his glass had been carelessly tossed onto the coffee table, the contents dripping on the floor. So enraged I could barely speak, I moved down the hallway, glancing in the bedroom first and finding nothing.

Then I turned my attention to my studio.

That’s where I found him, staring at my latest drawing, unmoving as I’d seen him so many times. As soon as I walked into the room, he shifted from one foot to the other. The crackling tension between us was horrible, the knot in my stomach growing.

“You paint beautifully. You will be a famous artist one day.”

This time, his compliment fell on deaf ears. “What happened that night, Edmond? You need to tell me the truth. For God’s sake, I deserve to know. Tell me what you remember. Maybe we can sort through the rest.”

When he remained silent, I lunged forward, slamming my fists against his back. I used enough force that he was shoved against the painting he’d been staring at, the canvas toppling to the floor.

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