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“Fucking move on, Fabien.”

His hands are curled around the steering wheel. His gaze is straight ahead.

“How could I move on when I... I... cared so much for you, Jolie, just for you to throw it into my face?”

Cared?

He paused before he said that word.

He was going to say another word instead.

The frustration builds in my chest. The baggage of the last few days rises in me like a volcanic eruption. I want to let it all out. I don’t want to talk about what he might really feel, because then I might have to tell him the truth.

So I do what I always do.

I go on the attack.

“How do you feel about lying to your best friend?” I ask, my voice straining with emotion. “How do you feel about betraying Clement?”

Fabien snarls.

“Don’t you dare mention him.”

“I have every right mentioning my brother.”

“How do you feel about lying to your brother?” Fabien retorts. “Don’t start this, Jolie, because you’re equally as guilty on that front.”

“And now you want to kill me? Is that it?”

Fabien rolls his eyes.

“Sure. I want to kill you, Jolie. That’s exactly what I want to do.”

His tone is dripping with sarcasm.

“Then get it done,” I reply, wanting to bombard him with everything I’ve got. “Kill me, if that’ll make you happy.”

“You’ve ruined all my chances of happiness with that email.”

“That email? The one from years ago?”

“You know which one I’m talking about, woman.”

“No,” I say. “That email was necessary. I did what I had to do.”

I hate how I have to state this. I hate how I have to hide what I should tell him.

“Didn’t you care?”

“I did freaking care,” I reply.

Fabien’s jaw clenches.

“I didn’t speak to anyone for a week after that email, Jolie. I didn’t eat. I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t believe what had happened.”

In this car, with him, I feel so cornered. Trapped. It’s like I’m being choked.

“You’re being dramatic,” I snap.