Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“We’ll discuss that later,” he murmured, his hands still gentle on her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks.
Furious, Iris yanked her head out of his grasp and shoved at his stupidly big, immovable chest with the heels of her hands for good measure. Naturally, he didn’t budge.
“We’ll discuss it now,” she insisted, stepping away from him and planting her hands on her hips as she glared up at him. “You knew who I was, you knew I had a legitimate reason for being here, but you left me out in the rain and the cold! And then when I did get into the house, you accused me of trespassing, threatened me with arrest, and kept me locked in that awful fucking room for days on end. I’ve been here for a week, and not once in that time did you think to set my mind at ease and admit that you’d known about the interview all along. Instead, I was left for hours at a time, worrying about what would happen when the police finally came for me. Imagining being locked in a prison cell, exacerbating the terror I already felt of being trapped in that room.”
His throat moved as he swallowed, his face even paler than before, his silvery eyes stormy and troubled.
“I-I was furious with Quinny for ignoring my wishes. And I was pissed off with you as well, for being here, for distracting me from my—”
“Your what?” she interrupted him shortly. “From your melodramatic moping? Because that’s what you were doing, hiding here, away from the world, with a major case of the sads. Something terrible happened to you, and I’m sorry about that, but that doesn’t mean you get to treat the rest of humanity like shit. It doesn’t mean you get to treat me like I’m somehow awful for having ambition, and for being excited about an interview that more seasoned journalists would be creaming over.”
“You’re right.”
“And I don’t think that—” she stopped as his words sank in, and tilted her head as she eyed him speculatively. “What did you say?”
“I said you’re right. I was being a fucking dick. And I’m—” He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket as he glared fiercely into her face. Always so damned intense. “I made a lot of mistakes with you, Iris. I treated you badly. And I regret that. I wish… I hope…”
He was really struggling to verbalize whatever was going on in that clever brain of his and Iris remained silent, waiting, not sure if prompting him would send him skittering back into his brittle shell again.
“I know that I’ve said and done some truly shitty and unforgivable things, and I hope that we could possibly start over?”
“Oh, just a clean slate, you mean? Forget everything you did, move on, and pretend it never happened?” Must be great to be a guy like Trystan Abbott. How often did this work for him? Just wave the magic Zero Consequences wand and start over.
She shook her head, and gave a short, incredulous bark of laughter.
“I can’t simply forget what you did to me, Trystan. And right now, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive it, not after everything that has happened. But what I can do is set it aside for the duration of my stay here, if only to make life more tolerable for both of us. We don’t have to be friends, we don’t have to be anything. We just have to get through however long we have left here together and then move on with our lives. That would be simplest, I think.”
“What about the interview?”
“You don’t want to do it, I respect your decision.”
“And that’s it?”
“Frankly, I don’t care anymore. I just want this ordeal to end so that I can go home.”
He dipped his head and for once he was the one avoiding her eyes.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
Thrown by the abrupt switch in topics, Iris blinked in confusion.
“What?”
“It’s only four in the morning, but you’ve slept for nearly twenty-four hours. You must be starving.”
It was ridiculously prosaic after the intensity of the last few minutes, but she was hungry and she did need to eat. And since she’d—only moments before—resolved to set the matter aside for now, she might as well focus on something she had some control over. Sulking and not talking to him would achieve nothing and exacerbate an already complicated situation.
“I am, yes.”
“I’ll whip up some breakfast,” he said. “Have a seat.”
“I could help,” she offered, and he eyed her for a moment, as if he were evaluating her condition. Eventually, he nodded.
“I’m making omelets. Why don’t you fix the coffee and toast and set the table?”
Happy to have something to do, she sprang into action.
They didn’t speak much while they each went about their individual tasks, but the silence between them was surprisingly companionable. Luna was asleep in her basket close to the back door, clearly disdainful of so much activity this early in the morning.