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“That’s not what I mean,” I say, rubbing my forehead. It’s beginning to throb. “None of this is coming out right.”

“Let’s hear it, then,” he snaps, eyes wild. “This apology—the one you’re so willing to get me in trouble to give?”

I can’t help the way my lip wobbles, but I do try to tamp it back. Holding in the way my voice wants to crack, I rasp out, “I-I wanted to say—”

But he barks, “Speak up, Red! Can’t hear you over the violins.”

“When I told Lavinia about you…” I try, my body strung tighter than a piano wire. “I wanted you to know I didn’t plan it.”

He releases a low, cutting chuckle, his eyes tracking the way my eyes water. “Oh, Red. I’d respect you so much more if you had.”

My shoulders sink. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?” he asks, never relenting. Not until he has me backed up against the wall. “Because you can’t handle how dirty you played me?”

Fervently, I say, “That’s not how it happened.”

His palm smacks into the wall, right beside my head. “That’s exactly how it happened!” He fumes at me, inches from my face, “You want to apologize? Then be honest, for once in your goddamn life. You told them because you hated me. Own it, Red!”

“I told them because Ididn’thate you!” I explode, shoving his shoulders. As he stumbles back, it all breaks free. “You were awful to me. Forweeks. Every deposit was another reminder that I was just a thing to you, and I couldn’t doanything. I had to take it, day after day. Even when it felt good, it was torture. And you know the worst part?” I ask, throat clenching. “You probably know that feeling better than me!”

He finds his footing, eyes flashing in vicious satisfaction. “So you admit it.”

“It wasn’t that.” I shake my head, feeling abruptly wrung out. “Suddenly, I became putty in your hands. That night at the fundraiser, in the swimming pool, then in the car, and back at the palace…” The anger leaves me raw and ragged, staring into his eyes as if I could possibly find him again. “I saw you, Wicker—therealyou—and everything felt different. You weren’t a monster anymore. You were just…” At first, I think I can't possibly find the words. But he’s so close—close enough to reach out and touch, my palm cradling his pale cheek. “You were sad, and genuine, and scared, and beautiful, and…” His eyes are wide enough that I could count the capillaries if I tried. The truth is, I could go on and on, finding new words to describe the man I catch these stunning glimpses of. Maybe that’s part of the reason I confess, “You were someone I could feel myself falling for.”

He’s still, utterly silent for so long that I let my hand slip away, fingertips dragging over his smooth jaw. Wicker was terrible to me, but never because I gave him the chance by letting him in. That’s what stings, deep down in my soul. He trusted me with something precious, something meant to help me, and I mangled it.

In a way, I cut him deeper.

“Lavinia clocked it before even I did,” I say, ducking my head, “and I felt so fucking stupid. Weak, like a failure. How can so much pain be wiped away so quickly? Who falls for someone like that?” I ask the question as if he could possibly answer.

He doesn’t even twitch.

“You’re very good at what you do, and I understand that the way you learned it, and the reason you learned it, is heinous, but it’s also a weapon.” Sighing, I admit, “So when I told her about you, I just… panicked. I was trying to prove to myself you were nothing because the truth hurt too much. Maybe you know what that’s like. Maybe you don’t.” Steeling myself, I find the courage to lift my chin, meeting his frozen gaze as the tears finally spill over, trailing down my cheek like fire. “It’s excruciating to care about someone who hurts you.”

There’s a long stretch where he just watches me, and even though I try to swat the tears away before they become obvious, I know he sees them.

It doesn’t matter.

Laying myself bare like this, trying to salvage the unsalvageable, was the worst idea.

I realize that now.

“I’m sorry, Wicker,” I say, “if I ever became that person for you. I know you didn’t want this. I wish…” I shake my head, laughing grimly. “I just wish everything had been different—for both of us. I think, in another life—”

But I never finish the thought.

I can’t bring myself to.

Instead, I pull in all the misery and guilt, tucking it up inside. It’s what allows me to meet his eyes. “I’ll call King Ashby and take responsibility for ruining your night with Trudie.”

That’s what sticks with me as I walk away: the way he just stares at me, emotionless and frozen, not giving an inch. It’s only then, as I’m marching for the doors, that I allow myself to imagine that other life. What would Wicker be like without the resentment and obligation?

Without the past.

Without Rufus Ashby.

“Verity,” comes his voice, from behind me. It’s jagged and quiet. “Hold up.”