Page 94 of Pistols & Peonies

She quickly averts her eyes and moves to obey, her shoulders rigid and her gait a little too jerky. I turn back around and continue down the hall to the kitchen, racking my brain for what could’ve caused this abrupt shift in her demeanor. I hear her muffled exhale as she drops down onto the couch, and a prickle of unease creeps up my spine.

What the hell changed in the five minutes since Whit left?

And that’s when it hits me. Whit.

Violet and I had an agreement. Physical intimacy, emotional distance. There were clear lines drawn, but I guess at some point they started to blur without either of us realizing. So much so that I brought her here, let her meet my family. Started playing house as if this bond was a choice we both made.

It wasn’t.

But I got so swept up in it– in her– that I let myself forget what this really is. What it has to be.

I exhale a slow breath, scrubbing a hand over my face before retrieving a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water from the tap. When I carry it into the living room, I find Violet perched on the far end of the couch with her knees tucked into her chest, her arms wrapped around them tightly like she’s trying to make herself as small as possible.

“Here,” I grunt, thrusting the glass toward her.

She forces a brittle smile as she reaches up to take it from me, the slight tremble in her fingers betraying her nerves. “Thanks.”

I take a seat beside her on the couch, far enough away to give her space, close enough that she can’t forget I’m here. Resting my arm along the backs of the cushions, I watch her out of the corner of my eye, cataloguing every detail.

She sips her water slowly, gaze drifting toward the window. There’s nothing to see beyond it but blackness at this hour, but her eyes stay fixed there, purposefully avoiding mine.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” I murmur, watching her face carefully. “You were fine five minutes ago. Then Whit leaves, and suddenly you look ready to crawl out of your own skin.”

She huffs a quiet laugh, leaning forward to set the water glass on the coffee table in front of us before turning to meet my stare. “Yeah, well. Your brother’s a lot.”

“He does that on purpose,” I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair. “Gets a kick out of being the loudest person in the room.”

The corner of her mouth lifts, but it’s a weak imitation of her usual smirk. “Mission accomplished, I guess.”

I continue studying her, looking for the crack in her veneer. “It’s not about Whit though, is it?” I hedge.

Her eyes flick away. “What makes you say that?”

I reach out for her instinctively, catching her chin in a hand and turning her face toward mine, forcing her to look at me. “Tell me.”

Violet sucks in a breath and jerks her chin from my hold, shaking her head. “You wouldn’t get it,” she mutters.

“Try me.”

She’s silent for so long I almost repeat myself. Staring out the window at the dark, tracing the curve of her upper lip with her tongue. Then, finally, she says, “You ever just… realize something? Out of nowhere. And then it makes everything else look different?”

“All the time,” I reply dryly. “Usually, it means I missed something I should’ve seen sooner.”

She nods, lips pressed together. “Right.”

Trying to pin her down is like wrestling a phantom. She’s withdrawn into herself, and I have no right to keep pressing her for answers when it’s pretty damn obvious she doesn’t want to talk about it.

I let it go, changing the subject. “We’ll head back to the city in the morning.”

She lifts her head, squinting at me. “But I thought…”

“I’ve got work,” I interrupt. “And I doubt you want me to leave you stranded out here while I commute back and forth.”

Her brow furrows. “I thought you said you were off for a few days?”

“Things change,” I say with a shrug.

She nods, exhaling a slow breath. “Yeah, okay.” She slides her feet to the floor and pushes up off the couch, arms wrapping around her body. “I’m gonna get ready for bed,” she murmurs, feet dragging as she starts toward the bedroom.