Page 144 of Slapshot Bride

There’s a phone face-up on the coffee table in front of him.

He watches me stop.

“Hey, honey.” He smiles warmly. “You look...” He rises to his feet and walks toward me, his eyes slowly taking me in. “Amazing.”

He tries to reach for me, but I jump back.

My heart drops.

I glance at the door.

The keys. I left the keys in the dish. The door was locked, until I opened it.

I try to make sense of his presence, but he stays put, smiling.

“H-how did you get in here?”

“Does it matter?” He smiles. “I have my ways, Riley. You should know that by now.”

He walks back to the sofa and sits, then pats the cushion beside him.

“Sit down. I'm not going to touch you. I've never laid a hand on you. That was always beneath both of us.”

I don’t sit down. Would never put myself that close to him ever again. I need to get him out.

“You broke into our house, Preston. You need to leave. Easton will be home...”

“In three hours.” He doesn't sound the least bit rattled. “I know exactly when Easton will be home, Riley. That's why I'm here now instead of later.”

He reaches for the phone on the coffee table, turning it over idly in his hand.

“Because the moment he walks through that door, you'll stand behind him. He'll do the talking, and I'll lose the only conversation that matters.”

His eyes lock onto mine. “So... before he gets back.” A small smile tugs at his mouth. “Just you and me.” He pauses. “The way it should be.”

That makes me fume. He’s planned this. He has a motive.

“Get out, Preston.” My voice is firm. “Get out now, or I’ll call the cops on you for trespassing, breaking into a private property, and threatening my safety.”

Even I know it's a weak argument the moment the words leave my mouth, but I can only hope I sound more convincing than I feel.

A long beat passes. He doesn't say anything.

The smile has vanished from his face, and something colder settles into his eyes.

The mask is starting to slip.

For six years, I only caught glimpses of the man beneath it. Now I'm finally looking at the real Preston Sinclair.

And I've never seen him more clearly.

He rises to his feet again. Grabs the phone off the table and approaches, until we’re an inch apart.

Bile rises in my throat. The urge to step back is high, but I force it down and maintain my position.

I need to stand up to him. Show him I’m not his little puppet anymore. He can no longer toy with me.

“I think we've gotten off on the wrong foot, Riley. So let me be perfectly clear.”