“We should go,” I say, taking James’s arm and gently tugging him back.
“Is there a problem?” he asks quietly.
“No, no problem.” I smile awkwardly when he looks at me, trying to force him away, but he remains unmoving. Then his stare drops to my wrists and understanding floats onto his face. His jaw ticks as he looks up at me, and I mildly shake my head, begging him to leave it. He shakes his in return, and I know in that moment that he won’t. He faces my aunt again. “It was consensual. Nothing happened that Beau—”
“Didn’t ask for?” Zinnea finishes, her nose high. I fold, giving up on trying to get James moving. He’s unmovable.
“Indeed,” James replies, reaching back and taking my hand as Dexter joins Zinnea at the door.
“I said leave her,” he whisper hisses, taking Zinnea’s arm. “She’s a grown wom—” He catches sight of us on the sidewalk and freezes, taking us in. I smile lamely. Yes, this is him.
“It was nice to meet you, Zinnea.” James turns us both and leads me to his car, and I look back, seeing Dexter now trying to get her back inside. I throw a pleading look that my aunt misses. Or ignores. I fear it’s the latter. I’ve never seen her so hostile. Yes, she can be a diva, or even a bitch when she wants to be. But never hostile. And I’m not sixteen, for fuck’s sake. Come on, Zinnea. This is too much.
Our eyes meet as Dexter pushes the door closed, and I hate the anger I see swirling in her usually happy gaze. She shakes her head, disappointed, and then she’s gone.
And I feel like utter shit. Like I’m committing a terrible sin. Like this is wrong. James and I are wrong.
“Stop,” James says when we get to the car, his tone warning. He opens the passenger door but prevents me from getting in, holding the top of my arm firmly. I look at his fingers wrapped around me. “You showed her?” He sounds angry.
“No, not voluntarily.” Does he think I offered the information? Gave her a blow-by-blow account of that night?
His jaw ticks harder as he stares at my welted wrist for an age, silent and brooding. Don’t tell me he feels guilty now, because I certainly don’t. But when he reaches for my arm, brushing a thumb over the start of my scar, I realize he’s not looking at the damage he caused, but the damage caused by someone else. You think you have more secrets than I do. I can hear his mind spinning. He wants to ask me so many questions.
I desperately don’t want to know anything.
And he wants to know everything.
“We’ll be late,” I say, withdrawing from him, pulling the material back into place.
He glances up. “We will.” His arm gestures to the open door, and I slide in, my head in turmoil. It started so well. And now?
Now I’m full of shame and hurt. Anger. Judgment. Disappointment.
Wasn’t the purpose of tonight to avoid that?
33
JAMES
I’m trying to figure out why the fuck I’m so bothered, and why she is now mute. The car feels like it could explode, the tension is so powerful. I need to clear my head. Get in the right frame of mind. Going in for a kill with anything less than composure isn’t wise.
I look across the car to her. She’s here but not here. And I think about the look on her aunt’s face. And her partner’s? His was equally disgusted. Shocked. Disapproving. They don’t like me. It was as plain as Beau’s withdrawal now. If they knew me, I’d understand. But they don’t know me, and they won’t know me.
“Why do you live with your uncles?” I ask, digging for information I already know.
“Because my mother is dead, my father is an asshole, and I left my ex at the altar on our wedding day.”
And she doesn’t want to be alone.
“You were going to get married,” I muse quietly, as if it’s news to me.
“It’s historic.”
“To the man outside the store?”
She turns her eyes onto me. They’re cold and empty. She doesn’t need to tell me to back off. Every fiber of her being is yelling at me to.
And I should.
34
BEAU
When we arrive at Ziff Ballet Opera House, the unbearable atmosphere between us hasn’t shifted. He asked some questions, I answered. That’s all he’s getting, and I know he must sense that because he’s been silent since. Silent and thoughtful. Angry.
He pulls the door to the lobby open for me, and I stand stock-still on the threshold, taking in the bustling space. My feet feel like they’re blocks of concrete, my pulse booming. James’s black mood isn’t helping. I’ll never get through this without him helping, and he looks in no mood to help.
Which means I can’t do this.
I pick up the bottom of my dress and turn, walking away, calm finding me the farther away I get from the building.
Or is it because I’m getting away from James?
I hate my final thought. Hate it.
“Beau,” he calls, but I keep on walking, unable to shake the awkward vibes or the displeasure on Zinnea’s face. I could endure it, maybe even disregard it, if I had any kind of reward. But her revulsion, James’s mood, and now this shitty atmosphere, has me wanting to do what I’ve become a master at.
Hiding.
My pace increases as a result, and I see the road approaching, the bus stop within reach.
“Beau!”
I step into the road.
“Beau!”
Look right.
“Beau, stop!”
But I don’t look left.
“Beau!”
I whirl around, seeing a car coasting toward me, and I freeze, paralyzed by shock. I’m grabbed and hauled back onto the sidewalk as the car zooms past, and I look up at James, startled. His face. It’s grave. “God damn it, Beau, what the fuck are you playing at?”
I blink, swallowing.
“Why are you running away from me?”
My eyes drop like stones to his chest. “Why are you angry?” I ask quietly.
“I’m not angry. I’m . . .” He breathes out heavily, as if trying to expel that anger. “I’m tangled.”
“Tangled?”
“Inside,” he goes on. “I’m in fucking knots, Beau.”
I look up at him. “Why?”
He closes his eyes briefly, as if gathering patience, like he doesn’t understand why I don’t get it. His hand slips onto my neck, his thumb circling my cheek, his spare hand on my hip, encouraging me closer to him. He dips and places his lips over mine, and the storm inside settles. Soft James. “I want to get to know you, Beau Hayley. And that’s come as a massive fucking surprise.”
I jolt in his hold, shocked. “What?” It’s all I can say. Being curious about me is one thing. But getting to know me?
Pulling back, he makes sure he has my eyes, and he stares so deeply into them, I fear all my secrets can be seen. It makes me look away, makes me feel vulnerable. This wasn’t part of the plan. I’ve fought my curiosity, so he needs to too. I feel like I’ve been derailed. He wants to get to know me. Does that mean he expects me to spill my dirt? Offload my demons and . . . and then what? We live happily ever after? And all of this is before putting mind to the fact that the first time I saw James, he was stark naked fucking a woman while a man watched.