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My lip curls. I stop stroking, my entire being turning to ice. “And how am I supposed to help you?”
“You can start by letting me inside.”
“Fuck, no.”
“Then consider the proof I have lost forever,” she threatens coldly. “If I leave here tonight, you’ll spend the rest of your life knowing you had everything you needed at your fingertips to take your family and mine down—but you threw it away.”
“Your family?” I search her face, seeing only the same loathing for her blood that I see every day for my own when I look in the mirror. It piques my interest another notch.
This is getting dangerous.
She cocks her head. “Do you think your father could have pulled it off alone? Abe isn’t that smart.” She laughs, shaking her head as she rips her eyes from mine only to pin them back to me harder than they were before. “Make your decision, Cole. I’m not giving you anything else until I’m confident I’m getting what I need out of this.”
Well, shit. Looks like the little Pipsqueak has grown up after all. Molded into a cool, heartless beauty by the Laurier Ice Queens before her.
I say nothing as I push away from her, moving back to my SUV as she stands plastered against my front door, chest heaving with deep, sharp inhales. I lean into the cab and kill the engine, flooding us in darkness cut only by a cloud shrouded moon. Keys in hand, I move silently back to the porch. I throw the strap of her carry on over my shoulder and hook a hand around the handle of her suitcase, glaring down at her as she steps out of the way for me to punch my code into the door, opening it.
Then I walk inside, waiting for her to follow.
She does without hesitation.
three
Olympia
Eight years. For eight years, I've held a torch for Cole Taviera.
For eight years, I've gone to sleep every night thinking of his smile. The deep, warm timbre of his voice. The smell of him, spices and shaved wood.
He'd never been for me, though. Not really. But he was the only man I'd ever wanted. He was the first man I'd ever loved. The only man. I'm pretty sure I'll never love any man but him.
And that sucks.
Because I'm finding that Cole is an asshole.
He's not a good man. He's not a kind man. He's no longer the man who ruffled my hair or took care to acknowledge my presence when no one else bothered. He's no longer the man who told me I was pretty whenever I got a new dress or attempted a new hairstyle. He's no longer the man who cared to take the time to make me feel seen, to build my fragile, youthful confidence. To treat me like a person, with feelings. As though I was more than a pretty doll, but never one as pretty as her.
I'm not so naïve that I believe he ever returned my affection.
He’d been in love with my older sister, the belle. He'd been head over heels for her, ready to marry her.
That thought, even as a girl, had killed me. Now, well, I'm a glutton for punishment, because it still hurts.
The fact that he’d ever loved her, hurts.
It shouldn't, just like realizing the man he's grown up to be is a dink, shouldn't hurt.
But it does. So much.
See? Glutton for punishment.
Shoving my childish feelings and raw hurt down deep, I stroll deeper into his house, hating that I love everything about it.
It's not crafted in cold, lifeless, sleek materials. It’s not designed to encourage envy, or perfection. It’s perfect and comfortable and warm. Lived in.
It’s no secret, the man has more money than I'm sure he knows what to do with. He could have any number of stately homes, but he has this. It’s not sprawling or openly grand. It’s not small, either.
It's cozy.
