Chapter 229: …Loosing Her Forever

ADRIEN’S POV

I look away.

He sets his glass down again. "Louise knew what she was getting into. She was not a child. She understood the benefits of being associated with me, and she understood what I expected from her."

"That doesn’t mean she didn’t want something else."

"Perhaps." His answer is so casual that I find myself looking at him again.

"Perhaps?"

"She was free to want whatever she pleased."

"And you never cared?"

"No."

He says it again.

There is no regret in his voice. No discomfort. He does not appear to be searching for a kinder way to explain himself.

I study his face, trying to find some indication that the answer is more complicated than he is allowing me to believe.

There is nothing.

"Not even a little?" I ask.

His gaze settles more firmly on me. "Adrien."

"What?"

"You are trying very hard to find something that was never there."

I press my lips together.

He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "The only person who has ever made me feel anything is you."

I blink.

For a moment, I am not sure I have heard him correctly. Orion continues as though he has not just said something that should probably concern me.

"Love, rage, anger, annoyance, desire. It makes no difference. You are the only person who has ever managed to make me feel any of them."

His eyes do not leave mine. "Louise never did."

My fingers tighten around the glass. "That’s a rather unpleasant thing to tell somebody."

"Would you prefer a lie?"

"No."

"Then there you are."

I look down.

The answer should not affect me as much as it does.

I have heard Orion say possessive things before. I have heard him make declarations that would have sounded romantic coming from another man, except that Orion has never been particularly interested in making his feelings sound harmless.

He does not speak about affection as though it is something soft that can be offered and withdrawn whenever the other person wishes.

When Orion says he wants something, there is always the unpleasant suggestion that he intends to keep it.

I know this. I have known it for a long time.

Yet there is something about the simplicity of his answer that unsettles me more than I expect.

He spent ten years with Louise and felt nothing.

He has spent far less time with me, and apparently, I have become the centre of every emotion he has ever experienced.

It is not a comforting thought. It is not even a particularly sensible one.

"What if I annoy you?" I ask.

His mouth curves. "You do."

I look at him. My gaze scans his face. "That was quick."

"You asked."

"And when I make you angry?"

"Frequently."

"Then perhaps you should find someone less irritating."

"No." He says it immediately.

I sigh. "Orion."

"What?"

"You’re impossible."

"I have heard that one before, too."

I look down at the glass again, but a small smile threatens to appear at the corner of my mouth. I suppress it before he notices.

Unfortunately, Orion notices almost everything.

"There it is."

I frown. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You were looking at me."

"I am allowed to look at my husband."

I give him a suspicious glance. "That sounded like a threat."

"It was an observation."

"An unpleasant one."

He smiles. I take another sip of water. For a while, neither of us speaks.

The rain taps against the windows, and somewhere in the penthouse, the air-conditioning makes a low, steady sound. The room feels strangely removed from the rest of the world.

I should probably go to bed.

Instead, I remain where I am.

My thoughts return to Louise, as they have done throughout the day. I wonder what she would have said if she had heard Orion speaking about her this way.

Would she have laughed? Would she have been angry? Would she have pretended that his indifference did not matter?

I imagine her standing near the fireplace at the manor, holding a glass of wine and looking at me with that familiar expression.

Perhaps she would tell me that I am foolish for asking questions about dead people. Perhaps she would tell me that I have never understood anything.

I close my eyes briefly.

"You’re thinking about her again." Orion’s voice draws me back.

I open my eyes. "Is it that obvious?"

"Yes."

"I’m sorry."

His brows draw together. "Why are you apologising?"

"I don’t know."

"Then don’t."

I nod.

He reaches for the glass in my hands, takes it from me, and places it on the table.

"Come here."

I look at him. "Why?"

"Because I asked."

"That is not a particularly convincing reason."

"Would you like a better one?"

I hesitate.

He extends his hand. "You’re tired. You’ve spent the entire day standing in the rain, and you have barely eaten. Come and sit with me."

I look at his hand.

There are many things I could say.

I could remind him that I am perfectly capable of sitting wherever I please. I could tell him that he does not need to give me instructions every time I move. I could even point out that he has an annoying habit of making simple requests sound like orders.

But I am tired. And I want to. That is the part I find difficult to admit.

I place my hand in his.

He draws me up from the sofa, and I move toward him. Rather than returning to the armchair, he guides me to the longer sofa and sits down, leaving enough room for me beside him.

I settle into the cushion.

His arm comes around my shoulders. I do not move away. For a few moments, I simply listen to the rain.

The warmth of his body reaches me through our clothes. His fingers rest against my upper arm, moving occasionally in a slow, absent pattern.

I have spent so much time being angry with this man that I sometimes forget what it feels like to sit beside him without preparing myself for an argument.

It is not that the anger has disappeared.

It has not.

There are still things between us that remain unresolved. There are still moments when I remember the way Orion behaves when he is displeased, the decisions he makes without consulting me, and the way his protection can feel suspiciously similar to confinement.

I have not forgotten any of it.