Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
I want to say yes. I want to once again put his mind at ease.
But for some reason, I can’t speak. My heart’s pounding something fierce now and I can’t think over how loud it’s being.
Or at least I can’t think of anything other than this one thing: I’ve seen him do this or be like this before. Very recently, in fact. On the night of my engagement when I told him about my mom.
When I was being all casual about it—while not feeling casual on the inside, though; on the inside, I was downright miserable and hurt—and he stood there both still and vibrating. He stood there both hot skin and cold eyes.
He looks exactly like that right now.
His posture may be rigid and carved out of stone. But the vein on the side of his neck is pulsating intensely, making me think of his heart beneath layers and layers of ice, beating and pulsing like it’s going to beat out of his chest.
“Stellan? I…” I take another step. “It’s fine. I’m—”
His eyes move over my shoulders and his jaw hardens further. Much like Shepard’s had but on him, it looks severe, much more dangerous. “Where were you?”
“What?” Shepard says.
“What the fuck were you doing?” he asks, again in that low, vibrating, shaking voice.
“What?” Shepard goes in disbelief. “What is your problem? I—”
Finally, something breaks in Stellan, I think.
Because he moves toward Shepard, advances on him really and his voice booms, “What the fuck is my problem? What the fuck is your problem? Where were you, huh? Where the fuck were you when she was getting her head bumped? Why weren’t you looking after her? Why weren’t you—”
Even though my eyes are pinned on Stellan, I know Shepard has come closer as well. I can hear his feet shuffling behind me, his voice getting angrier, “Hey, listen, you asshole, I’m not her babysitter. I’m not—”
“No, you’re not,” Stellan bites out, his teeth clenched. “You’re her fucking fiancé. You’re supposed to look out for her. You’re supposed to—”
“If you’ve got a problem with how I treat my fiancée, I don’t give a fuck, all right. I—”
Stellan goes to advance on Shepard, and I decide to stop being frozen and absolutely horrified at what’s happening and how it even came about and stop him. I thrust my body between him and Shepard, and say, “Stellan, stop. It’s okay. I’m okay.”
He’s still staring at Shepard, his eyes promising murder, his chest displaying all the mayhem inside of him. “You can’t drop the ball here, do you understand? You cannot drop the fucking ball with her. It’s her. It’s—”
“Stellan, stop,” I plead, my voice thick with tears. “Please, stop. It’s fine.”
But I don’t think he’s listening to me.
I don’t think he can listen.
Not over the chaos in his own body, over his own loud breaths and his heartbeat. And I probably shouldn’t do it. I probably should not get even closer to him because for some reason, I’m very aware of the fact that I slept with him last night.
I’m very aware of the fact that only a few hours ago, we were tangled up with each other and watching the snow. Before he dropped me off at my room and told me to lock the door like he always does.
And when I did but promptly unlocked it to throw it open, I found him standing in the exact same spot. Looking exactly like he had the first time I’d found him standing there.
So I jumped into his arms once again and we made out like two people with In. Sane chemistry just inside my door. After which, he finally left, and I fell on my bed and spent the next hours dreaming about him.
So again, now that I’ve grown closer to him, I shouldn’t do this either. I shouldn’t put my hand on his chest, which feels feverish to the touch.
But I do it.
Because I don’t think I have any other choice. I don’t think he’ll hear me otherwise.
“Stellan,” I say, pressing my hand right where his heart is. And God, it’s going. It’s really, really going and that’s what keeps me firmly in my place. “Stellan, please. Look at me.”
When he still doesn’t, I increase the pressure and get so close that we’re touching in a way that I don’t think I should be touching my fiancé’s twin brother, not out in public at least where my fiancé can see it.
But I decide to put that out of my head and focus my energy on saving Shepard because from the looks of it, Stellan may murder him.
“Stellan,” I try again, fisting his T-shirt. “Look at me, please. Just look at me.”
Finally, my urgency gets through to him and he jerks his eyes away from Shepard. They come to settle or more like crash against me and God, they’re so intense, so penetrating, so full of things that look like urgency and anger and restlessness and… is that fear? I don’t even know anymore, what his gaze is made up of.