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The dashboard beeped.
“Put your seatbelt on,” he ordered.
I obeyed, but with my lower lip pushed out. So he knew I was pissed.
We drove in silence all the way home. He circled the Audi and pulled open my door, stepping aside.
“Go inside,” he said.
The world spun and I wobbled as I crossed the driveway in my towering heels. He unlocked the door and took my upper arm gently and guided me into the kitchen.
The bright kitchen light blinded me for a second. I blinked, rubbing my swimming eyes. He still hadn’t shaved his stubble and it was stark against his skin. The few silver hairs made him look distinguished. Like a real gentleman.
He set a bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water in front of me. Then he pulled out the kitchen stool, indicating I should sit.
I obeyed, taking a slow sip of water. My palms felt sweaty and my head spun. The silence was deafening.
Why wouldn’t he crack? I’d kill for just a bit of a smile.
He pushed his hands into his pockets. I looked down, tracing the muscles in his exposed forearms down to where his wrists disappeared into his pants pockets.
“Let’s have a talk, Clara,” he said.
I nodded once, keeping my eyes down.
He cleared his throat. “Please look me in the eyes while I’m speaking with you. I am your Brenin.”
My jaw went slack. He’d never pulled the Welsh King authority card with me before, ever. A little hurt, I dragged my gaze up.
“You drink too much,” he said.
This time, my jaw fell open. I drank too much? Me? How dare he say that when he came home every day and had a glass of whiskey?
“You drink too,” I pointed out.
“I have a drink every other weeknight, equaling exactly one shot glass of high quality whiskey,” he said. “On weekends, I allow myself one day where I can have no more than three drinks.”
I just stared at him, too drunk to comprehend.
“You’re getting messy,” he said. “You’ve gotten drunk with Candice numerous times since you got home. You’re hungover in the morning and you sleep till noon on those days.”
My throat tightened. He didn’t sound like Merrick anymore. He sounded like my fucking father.
“You’re going to cut back on your drinking,” he said firmly. “To two days a week. Otherwise, I’m putting a limit on your credit card.”
That was over the line. I mouthed silently, so shocked I couldn’t think of words. He put his hands on his hips, his jaw set and his eyes stern.
“I…how dare you?” I whispered.
He stepped back, pacing. His hands still on his slender hips.
“How dare I…what?” he said, his voice low. “You are a beautiful, talented woman and you’re fucking around and using my money to do it. Don’t think I didn’t see every damn thing you did at the lodge.”
“What does that mean?”
“You spent almost every night drinking with men,” he said. “And, I hope to God, it never got further than that.”
I set down the water and kicked my heels off. Anger erupted in my chest and I took a step toward him. Fists clenched.
