A few weeks ago I’d have pushed for more, but I have a secret of my own, and it doesn’t seem fair to press him for his right now.
Besides, he makes me feel safe…even when he shouldn’t.
“I trust you, Liam.” I raise my eyes to his. “I’ll choose you.”
The relief on his face is surprisingly beautiful, especially coming from a man accustomed to getting what he wants.
We linger in the moment, the match on a short reprieve.
He takes his time, and when he finally commits, I’m sure he’s going to pull off a maneuver I can’t foresee—something that will give him the win—because he doesn’t lose at chess.
Not to me.
So when he pushes a bishop across the board, putting his queen on the line and giving mine all the power, I count the seconds to make sure I’m not hallucinating.
Then I take his most valuable piece.
His mouth forms an adorable frown.
I wait for him to discover a winning play, one I’m blind to…
Instead, he tips his king. “You’ve got me.”
“Do I really?”
“I think you know the answer to that, my sweet girl.”
Liam Castle never loses…
Except when it comes to his heart.
7
Last month, Sebastian’s father carved me open across the dinner table, merciless in his cutting accusations, making sure every house in the tower watched me bleed. Like a verdict, he laid his son’s death at my feet. From there, the night unraveled, one fraying thread at a time.
Too much wine with Ford.
Unforgivable words I couldn’t take back.
Liam hauling me away from the ledge.
So tonight, as I step into the dining room, part of me braces for more wreckage.
But it doesn’t come.
I go through the motions of eating dinner, sipping wine, counting down the moments until I can leave this room.
When the time comes to announce my choice, this supposed gift from the Brotherhood for the night of my birthday, still weeks away, I keep my promise and pick Liam.
My choice makes its way around the table without a ripple. Liam fights a smile. Mr. Bordeaux is…well, Mr. Bordeaux. No one seems surprised.
But Oliver doesn’t react at all, which is how I know.
His attention stays on his wine a moment too long before he levels me with a glance.
Disappointment, bolted down so only I can see it.
And then there’s Hugo, who simply nods and asks to see my studio. I’m still not sure why, and he hasn’t said a word since we left the dining room.