Chapter 2

I kept eating my baked lobster and gave her one look.

"I didn't miss you."

Her smile locked up. She recovered quickly, acting like nothing had happened, and settled in next to Sebastian.

"Well, I'm glad you're back. These two years have been so hard on my brother. Lucky I was here for him, or I don't know how he would have made it."

Sebastian didn't push her away. He kept his eyes fixed on me.

I wiped my mouth, looked up, and gave Vivienne a smile too.

"Oh, how kind of you. I'm sure it was exhausting."

She stared at me, thrown off.

I stood up and nodded to both of them. "Professor, I'm a little tired. I'll head back to my room. You two take your time."

A heavy crash came from behind me.

Then Sebastian's voice, low and strained with anger.

Then Vivienne's wounded little sobs.

I didn't look back.

I closed the bedroom door and sat down on that big bed with its fresh new sheets.

Before I fell asleep, I crossed off one day in my head.

Eighty-nine to go.

Over the next few days, Sebastian was everywhere.

He took me to the beach—the place where we'd had our first "date."

Calling it a date was generous. I'd tailed him on his morning run and then "happened to run into him" and refused to leave.

The wind had been brutal that day, my hair flying in every direction. He'd gotten annoyed, dug a hair tie out of his pocket, and tied it back for me in about two rough seconds.

That was the first time he'd ever touched me on purpose.

I'd been so happy I nearly jumped up and down.

The wind today was just as strong.

His hand rose, stopped in midair—that same uncertain, unsteady gesture.

Then it came down, and he gently tucked the loose strands back behind my ear.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"I'm fine," I said. "Thank you, Professor."

I saw the hand that had just tucked my hair curl into a fist at his side.

He was looking for the old Ella. Trying to prove I was just being stubborn and putting on a show.

But the truth was, I felt nothing.

So he switched to a tactic I recognized.

That evening, at his request, I went to the study to bring him coffee.

I pushed the door open and stopped.

He had his arm around Vivienne on the couch, the two of them sharing a blanket, watching an old romance movie.

When she heard me come in, she let herself lean into him a little more.

Then he looked at me.

Those gray eyes, deep in the dim light, filled with something suppressed and sick—a kind of anticipation.

But I felt nothing.

Two years ago, I would have felt humiliated. I would have cried until I couldn't breathe.

And then I would have shown up the next day anyway and asked in a small voice, "Daddy, do you like Vivienne more than me?"

The thought almost made me laugh.

I turned to the cabinet, pulled out a cashmere blanket, and held it out.

"One blanket between two people isn't going to keep either of you warm."

He blinked.

I reached over and turned the projector volume down two notches.

"It's late. Keep it down, I'm trying to sleep."

I turned back to face them and smiled.

"Enjoy the rest of it. Goodnight, Professor."

Then I left, and pulled the study door quietly shut behind me.

"Ah!" Vivienne let out a short sharp yelp. "Why did you push me, brother!"

Then came the sound of something being thrown and smashed, one thing after another.

Like an animal trapped in a closed room, losing its mind.

I walked back to the bedroom at a perfectly steady pace.

...

The bedroom door slammed open in the middle of the night.

I jolted awake, rubbing my eyes.

"Professor...?"

He crossed the room in a few steps, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me up off the bed.

"Wait—mm—"

His mouth, tasting of cigarettes and something metallic, came down on mine hard.

Like a drowning man trying in pure desperation to take oxygen from someone else's lungs.

One hand gripped the back of my neck, keeping me there. The other grabbed my hand and pressed it flat against his stomach.

"Go on," he said, his voice wrecked. "You used to love doing that, remember?"

I pressed my fingers in a little.

He'd clearly been barely eating. I could feel his ribs too easily.

His kiss got harder. His teeth caught my lower lip and broke the skin.

I just looked at him, still and quiet.

He finally noticed.

He went still and let go, stepping back.

"Just now..." His voice had gone so rough it was almost gone. "While I was kissing you. What were you thinking about?"

I told him the truth.

"I was thinking that you've lost a lot of weight. You don't feel the same."

His eyes went red enough to bleed. His mouth twisted up at the corner, and a laugh came crawling out of his throat.

"I was kissing you... and you were thinking about how the muscle mass isn't what it used to be..."