Chapter 115
EMILIA
Her eyes snap to mine, irritation flaring like I’ve just asked the dumbest question imaginable. “What the hell? You don’t know who Julie is?”
rust.
I blink. “No? Is she a friend? Like Jessica?” Even saying the name ‘Jessica‘ feels like licking
For some reason, that sets Lacey off. She snorts – actually snorts – and then dissolves into messy laughter. “Julie? Like Jessica?” She nearly slides off the stool. “God, Liam, she really doesn’t know anything about Jess, huh?”
“Drop it.” Liam doesn’t raise his voice, but it’s enough to slice through the room. Lacey’s laugh dies on her lips.
“Wait, she doesn’t?” Her gaze swings back to me, slower this time. There’s something different behind her eyes now – maybe pity. I can’t tell which is worse.
Curiosity
met S
“I’m not getting involved in that shit,” she mutters, standing with a wobble. “He’s already thrown out my wine, so it’s time for leave.” She leans in, drops a sloppy kiss on my cheek, then stumbles toward Liam. Her hand slaps against his shoulder, a little harder than
necessary.
Liam doesn’t react. Not visibly, anyway.
“Céline’s perfume, huh?” he
nurmurs, so low I almost miss it.
We both watch Lacey leave.
The silence that follows feels heavier than it should.
“Emilia, I think we should stay away from Céline. At least for a while.” He says it absently, like he’s talking about the weather, spooning sauce onto a plate and grabbing a few slices of bread like nothing happened.
But my mind is elsewhere, “Who’s Julie?”
He slides the plate toward me, then takes the stool beside mine, like he’s only just registering the edge in my voice. “She’s my sister. The older one I keep talking about. She and Céline are friends.”
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It makes enough sense that I let it go. For now.
“Thank you,” I say stiffly, eyeing the plate.
“You’re welcome. Use the sauce like a spread. It’s better that way.”
I do what he says. He’s right it’s good. Too good, actually. I’m halfway through my third bite, relishing the hot burn on my tongue, when I realise he’s not eating. Just sitting there, head resting on his hand, watching me like he can’t quite figure me out.
You’re not eating?”
He shakes his head, eyes fixed on me, something unreadable flickering there. ‘I don’t eat
spicy food.”
The déjà vu hits hard, like a slap. We’re back at the amusement park – me with sticky fingers and spun sugar on my tongue, him watching me eat cotton candy with that same quiet disinterest. Like he’s watching, but not part of it. Like now.
My stomach twists when he finally speaks.
“Why do you keep treating me like him?”
I pause, bread halfway to my mouth, then set it down slowly. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t even realise you do it, huh?” He exhales through his nose, but it’s not a laugh. “It’s like you’re waiting for me to mess up. Like you’re holding your breath, waiting for the moment I prove I’m lying about how I feel.”
His words sting, mostly because they’re true.
I try to brush it off, but my voice comes out sharper than I mean it to. “And how do you feel, then? Huh?” I look him dead in the eyes. “You went from swearing off relationships to suddenly caring so much. Forgive me for not trusting that right away.”
He’s quiet for a second, like he’s actually thinking about what to say. Then he lets out a shaky sigh, like he’s holding something back.
“You have no idea how annoying you are,” he mutters.
1 blink. “Excuse me- what?”
“You’re annoying,” he repeats like maybe I missed it the first time, leaning just a little closer. “You re beautiful. And brilliant. And funny without even trying. You walk into a room
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and suddenly it’s hard to focus on anything else.*
I freeze. My chest feels oddly warm.
“You make me want things I didn’t even think I could have, he goes on, voice softer now. “You make me want to stay, to try, to be better. And it’s annoying because I wasn’t looking for that. I wasn’t looking for you.” (
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