My mind skipped back to watching Nila. I’d avoided her for two weeks.
Two weeks that I needed to screw my head back on fucking straight and stop allowing my stupid emotions to get the better of me.
Today was the first time I let her see me, but I hadn’t gone close enough to talk.
What could I say? Sorry for whipping you? Sorry for coming on you? Sorry for my fucked-up soul that can only be controlled by a regiment of ‘fixing myself’?
There was nothing I could say and nothing I wanted to explain.
I sighed.
Jasmine had worked her magic, and I was back. I’d found my way into the cold shell that protected me and spent the last week cold, remote, unfeeling.
I was eternally relieved.
The messiness of life no longer affected me, and I trusted myself not to boil over with no provocation. Even with provocation, it would take a lot for me to snap. I wasn’t just glacial; I was a continent of blizzards and perma-ice.
The moment my brothers, father, and I returned from the pheasant shoot, Nila had been sitting on the front terrace, sketching. She wore a long pale blue skirt with a slight train that rippled over the black tiles of the patio and a cream blouse with a ruffled collar and big buttons.
She’d looked content…centred.
The time apart had given us both much needed space, and the fiery emotion she’d conjured inside was a distant memory.
I didn’t even hate her. I didn’t have any drive to torment her, fuck her, or fight in any way. All emotions came from the same place.
That was what I’d forgotten.
Hate and love…they were the same thing. I’d tried to harness only one—hate. I tried to be my father’s son, full of mistrust for others, while asserting dominance and fear.
And I’d succeeded for a while.
But with hate comes passion—either for those I loathed or circumstances I couldn’t stand. Every spike of emotion permitted more awareness to steal my indifference and make me care.
Caring was my problem.
Caring was what got me into messes I couldn’t repair.
Caring was what would kill me in the end.
But that was fixed now.
Resting my head on Wings’ muscular neck, I breathed in the scent of equine and hay. “Suppose I better get it over with.”
Just the thought of confronting Nila made my skin prickle. I’d shown her too much, and now she thought she understood me. She would never understand me.
Shit, I didn’t understand me.
Then again, there was nothing left to understand. It was all…gone.
Wings huffed, searching my pockets for more oats.
Another boom of a purple and yellow firework shook the stable walls. The dogs howled in the kennels across the courtyard. Seemed everyone was on edge tonight.
Giving the horse one last handful, I left the stables and made my way reluctantly toward the Hall.
Nila’s black eyes found mine the moment I joined the milling men and families of Black Diamonds. Women weaved, giggling and tipsy with our own brew and vintage. No children ran around—they weren’t allowed on the estate—but the atmosphere of happiness scratched painful nails across my skin.
Nila never looked away as I was congratulated for being the winner at poker this afternoon and for losing the bet that I could catch more trout than my father.
It took ten minutes to cross the lawn with brothers detaining me and gossiping. Kes was in charge of the large bonfire roaring in the corner, burning off boughs and branches that had been trimmed from the forest closest to the house. Daniel—as was typical for my younger, psychotic brother—was nowhere to be seen. And Cut sat like a king on a throne, watching the staff set off dangerous fireworks.
The large box of pinwheels, squealers, and sunbursts waited to die in an extravagance of gunpowder and brilliance.
Stopping a few metres from Nila, I ignored her and watched the swarm of festivities. I hoped she would stay away.
But of course, that wish went unanswered.
“Hello,” Nila said, appearing by my side. She still wore the long skirt with blouse and large buttons. Her hair was down, thick and glossy, mirroring the flames from the bonfire. Her cheeks were flushed from being out in the sun all day, but her eyes were clear from intoxication.
“I was beginning to forget what you looked like,” she prompted when I didn’t move or acknowledge.
Looking at her quickly, I touched my temple in greeting. Taking a sip of the elderberry and thistle beer that had been a trial brew last year, I deliberately refrained from talking. I wouldn’t let her sucker me into another fight.
I was done fighting.
I would extract the debts, bide my time until all of this was mine, then get the final requirement out of the way.
Final requirement?
Her death, you mean?
Scowling, I took another sip. The concoction actually wasn’t too bad. Standing stiff and remote, I stared at nothing, wishing she’d just leave.
Her presence gave no hint of how she felt about me. I couldn’t tell if she hated me, desired me, or nursed vengeance deep in her heart.
I expected all of that and more. I expected to be slapped and told to never go near her again. I tensed for a spark in the tinderbox of emotions we stood in, just waiting for this crumbling truce to annihilate both of us.
What Nila didn’t know was, if she struck me, I wouldn’t retaliate. I would permit the slap with no spike of heartbeat or temper and walk away. I would stay my distance until the next debt was ready to be paid.
Because I was done.
I’d found peace, and I didn’t want to enter the chaos of fighting with her again. It was too fucking dangerous.
“Where have you been?” she asked, moving closer and watching the staff drive a large firework peg into the ground. They fumbled around trying to set the fuse alight.
I didn’t say anything. Just took another sip of my beverage.
The hiss and fizzle of the fuse was the only warning before the firework shot into the sky and rained over us with sparks and thunder.
Nila’s face lit up with the glowing atoms, dark eyes wide with appreciation.
Once the night sky was no longer polluted by fake sunshine and the cloud of smoke disappeared, Nila frowned in my direction. “Are you going to say something?”
I shrugged. Why? What was there to say? Nothing of importance and I’d done enough talking. Enough fighting. Enough fucking masturbating over the girl I was destined to kill.
Why was she talking to me? Shouldn’t she be avoiding me at all costs?
I stilled as Nila placed her hand on my forearm. Her feminine heat seeped through my tweed, reminding me of the last time we’d been together and what I’d done.