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“Tell me the truth. How soon in your seduction plan did you feel something other than revenge?”
From the fucking moment I first saw her in the kitchen.“That’s not the point?—”
“It is. Because that’s the moment you were you, that she fell for the real you, and you just need to help her see that.”
“She knows my plan and in her mind, anything I say or do now is suspect. I don’t blame her.” I rise from the couch needing a drink.
Flint's jaw tightens. "Stop making excuses."
"They're not excuses. They're facts." I pour two fingers of whisky from Phoenix’s bar. "Jenna fell for me deeply, so… purely.” Again, guilt spears sharp. It nearly steals my breath. “How can she ever trust me?”
Flint stands, blocking my path back to the couch. "You're not the same man who set out to destroy her. He wouldn't be tearing himself apart with guilt right now."
"Guilt doesn't change what I did."
"No, but what you do next might." He grabs my good shoulder, forcing me to look at him. "You want to prove you're worthy of her trust? Then step up. Be the man she deserves. Show her that your feelings are real, that you'll protect her and your child no matter what it costs you."
"How?" The word comes out broken. "How do I even begin to make up for what I've done?"
"By being completely honest from this moment forward. And by accepting that she might never forgive you but trying anyway because she deserves the truth and your child deserves a father who didn't give up. I’m not saying it will be easy. It may take time, but trust me, Blaise, it will be worth it."
I know there is truth to his words. I need to step up for Jenna and the baby. Not to win her back, but to provide her everything she deserves.
"You're right." I turn back to Flint. "Even if she never forgives me, I have to show her the truth of me.” I swallow hard. "She made me feel whole again, even when I was trying not to feel anything."
He smiles. “I felt the same about Lucy.”
Something settles in my chest, not peace exactly, but purpose. It's time to step into the light, face my mistakes, and prove to Jenna that the man she fell in love with wasn't entirely a lie.
I don’t deserve her forgiveness, but I can’t live without trying. For the first time since everything fell apart tonight, I feel steady. Determined. Whatever it takes, I’m going to fix this.
33
JENNA
Iwake with my stomach churning. It takes a minute for me to orient myself in my surroundings. Then it all comes back in a flood—Blaise ambushing Ronan in the wine cellar and telling me his love for me was all a lie to get back at showing Ronan how to get into the house. The chaos when Ronan got away. Ronan’s dark, empty eyes staring down at me as he held a gun, ready to kill me. Blaise barging in, killing Ronan without a second thought. His killing the guard. And then coming here. I lie in bed, feeling the loss of everything I’ve ever known.
My stomach both rolls over and growls. I need to eat something.
The house is quiet as I pad down the hallway still in clothes from last night. Maybe everyone's asleep and I can raid the kitchen in peace. At the very least, I hope Blaise isn’t here. I can’t look at him and not feel like such a fool for buying everything he said and did.
Ash Ifrinn sits at the kitchen island, a steaming mug of coffee in front of him. His blue eyes lock onto me the moment I enter. They're the same shape as Blaise's, but Blaise has green eyes. In fact, Blaise is different from his brothers in that he hasblond hair instead of dark brown. But there’s no mistaking the resemblance. I can see their mother in them. Mrs. Ifrinn was a kind woman. I think about Mrs. Kean who also does generous things, but in comparison to Mrs. Ifrinn, Mrs. Kean does them to boost her reputation. Mrs. Ifrinn did it out of genuine goodness. Or at least that is the impression I remember of her.
"There's cereal in the cabinet." Ash's voice carries none of the hostility from last night. "Or I can make eggs if you want protein."
I hover in the doorway, unsure whether to bolt or stay. The smell of coffee makes my stomach flip. “Can I have toast? I can make it if you show me where things are.”
"Sit." He points to a stool across from him. "You need to reduce your stress.”
My hand instinctively moves to my stomach. "Did Blaise tell everyone about…?"
"The baby? Yes.” He points again at the stool. “Sit.”
The kitchen suddenly feels smaller, more confining. This man blamed me for his parents' deaths just hours ago. Now he's offering to make me breakfast like we're family.
“How long do I need to stay here?”
“Until your mom can be moved.” He holds up a tea kettle. “Tea?”