Duke flinched, and I knew he’d try to cage me in, to grab me. For once, I was quicker than him. Even in my grief, even with the whisky in me, I was quicker.
I put the chair between us and made it very clear I didn’t want him near me.
He glowered at the chair. Then at me.
“You were never a mission for me, and you know that,” he said slowly. “This has been real since the second you set foot on Hammond dirt.”
I tilted my head, trying to weigh that statement for truth and lies, but I didn’t know the difference between them anymore.
“Why did you make me pretend then?” I yelled. “Did you guys all have a good laugh over beers, knowing the truth?”
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” he clipped. “I told them because I needed them to be aware, to protect you when I wasn’t around. They’re the only people I trust with you.”
“No,” I said, quiet now. “No, that’s not it. You couldn’t lie to them about something like this. Maybe you could lie to your mother and grandmother because you had some warped idea that you were protecting them, even though your grandmother knew something was up from the beginning. But you weren’t doing it to have them protect me. You were doing it because you couldn’t lie to them. You were doing that because you hated me at the start of this, and you didn’t want your father to be ashamed of you thinking I was the woman you picked to bring home.”
“I didn’t hate you,” Duke said after another long fricking pause.
He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t even attempt to try to tell me I was wrong about the rest—because I wasn’t.
It seemed totally pointless to be having this argument in the midst of what I’d lost, but at the same time the anger was something more tangible to hold on to. A lifeboat in the middle of stormy seas.
It did make my emotions more powerful. That and the whisky.
Which was what had me darting to the French doors and sprinting out into the rain, barefoot.
Duke cursed behind me, and he was no doubt chasing me. He might’ve caught me any other time, with longer strides, more power behind them. But grief, heartbreak, and anger were a unique fuel, so I managed to run a long way before I stopped. Before Duke’s hand grasped my arm and yanked me to face him.
The rain had soaked us both, plastering his shirt to his body, rendering the white shirt I was wearing see-through.
“What the fuck, Anastasia?” he roared, yanking me into his chest.
He tried to, at least. I fought him this time. I fought him like a banshee, as if I was fighting for my life.
“Let me go!” I screamed, the wind and the rain stealing my voice away.
He didn’t let me go.
“Damn you!” he yelled.
“Damn you,” I yelled back. “Damn you for bringing me here. Why did you need to take this fucking job? Why did you have to bring me here? Why did you force me into a lie that I would eventually believe? Why would you make me fall in love with you? Is this a sick game for you? Punishment for being a bitch to you as I did my best to hide my reactions to you? I fell in love with you the first moment I saw you, Duke Hammond, and it’s been torture every moment since. So, congratulations.”
He was still now. He was holding me, his grip still viselike. But he was staring at me with something other than the frustration of before.
His chest was falling and rising rapidly, much like my own. The rain continued to pelt us, so we were both drenched. I barely noticed it under the heaviness of Duke’s gaze.
I waited for more fight from him. He gave me none. Instead, he let my arm go only so he could violently grab hold of my neck and kiss me.
I should’ve fought it. I should’ve known this was my absolute last point of escape. Anything after this would be forever and impossible to recover from.
But I didn’t stop.
I kissed him back with all my anger, all my fear, all my grief.
All my love.
We had just gotten out of the shower.
I barely remembered how we got there in the first place. I did know we damn near had sex in the middle of that field in the rain, in the mud. I’d wanted to. The urge to do it in the dirt, under that moody, angry sky was almost primal.
Duke had wanted to as well. But it seemed the alpha macho-man had more control over the animal inside him than I did, since he carried me all the way back to the house.
Well, not all the way.
First, we made it to the verandah.
The wicker furniture left welts on my thighs.
Duke left scars on my soul.
The transition from wild, violent, and urgent fucking to silence, stillness in the bed, was jarring and uncomfortable.
Too many things had happened in this day. Too much hurt. It had spilled over my happiness like acid, dissolving it, melting it, disfiguring it, ensuring it would never be the same again.
The next morning, I woke to an empty bed.
It seemed Duke had forgotten our rule as to the way we woke each other up. Then again, he probably thought sleep was a gift to me right now.
As it was more often than not, he was right.
Waking up without him was jarring, confusing, and exactly what I needed. I needed to breathe in his scent, be comforted by it, but also learn how to be on my own. Learn how to breathe around the pain.
It wasn’t easy.
I’d never let myself feel loss before.
My father had died before I could really remember him. There was no point in crying about a stranger, was there? Plenty of people lost parents. Plenty of people entered the foster system, got fucked up by it. Plenty of women had to use their bodies to survive—but not many of them managed to claw themselves out of that life.
I was luckier than most, so it seemed in poor taste to feel sorry for myself.
However, last night changed everything, forced me to feel it all, even when I really didn’t want to.
Life happened whether you wanted it to or not.
Voices trickled in from behind the closed door, along with the smell of coffee. As much as I wanted to sink into these sheets that smelled of Duke and denial, I wanted to drink coffee with the man himself, with whatever member of his family was out there. I wanted to look at the mountains and live in this present moment. Who knew how much longer I’d have it for?
Duke had said a lot of things last night, however three important words were missing. He was not a man to say them out of a sense of duty or politeness. If he felt them, he would’ve said them. It was that simple. And it hurt. It really hurt, no matter how selfish that was in the midst of grieving my only friend. But it wasn’t going to force me back into my shell, as my first instincts urged me to.
I was going to lean in. More than that, I was going to jump in. I wasn’t going to hold back, wasn’t going to pretend that I didn’t feel the way I did just to protect myself from hurt. I was already hurting. It wasn’t going to change, so I’d hold on to this for as long as it was in my grasp.
After brushing my teeth, performing my skincare routine, and throwing on a robe over my nightie—as liberal as Duke’s parents were, I didn’t think they’d appreciate seeing my nipples while drinking coffee—I tentatively walked down the hallway to the kitchen.
Harriet sat at the breakfast bar, leaning on her elbows and talking to Duke as he manned the stove.
This gave me pause.