Page 158 of Detectives in Love

I snort. Not even dignifying that with a response.

“Do you want money? We can talk about it.”

“Jesus,” I mutter, wincing. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong withme?” Ernest snaps. “I’m trying to protect my nephew.”

“He doesn’t need protection,” I shoot back, heat rising in my chest. “Not from me. And I’m not after his fame or his money.”

“Then why?” he demands. “Why are you doing this?”

I blink, my lips twitching in something that isn’t a smile. There’s nothing funny about it.

“You know why.”

Ernest exhales hard, the tension shifting in his posture. He uncrosses his arms and curls his hands into fists at his sides.

“You don’t understand,” he says. “He’s not like you. He’s…different. And you’re going to break his heart.”

I almost laugh—because wow, Ernest Ormond actually cares. He’s not just here to be a thorn in Xavier’s side; he’s trying to protect him in his own twisted way.

“That’s…surprisingly decent of you,” I say, smiling now, genuinely. “But Xavier and I can handle it ourselves.”

Ernest doesn’t flinch. He just looks at me for a moment, then says, completely deadpan, “Are you two having sex?”

I nearly choke. Seriously? What kind of question is that?

“I’m not answering that,” I say flatly.

He hesitates, then—like he can’t quite believe he’s asking—says, “Do you love him?”

But I don’t get the chance to answer—because the kitchen door bursts open, and Xavier storms in, eyes blazing.

“OUT!” he shouts. “Get out!”

Before Ernest can get another word in, Xavier swings the front door open and all but shoves him into the hallway. Ernest—composed, dignified, and far too self-important for this kind of handling—doesn’t stand a chance. The moment he’s out, Xavier shuts the door and leans back against it, like he needs a second to recover.

“Were you listening?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Xavier glances over, guilt flickering in his eyes—then his gaze drops to my bandaged thigh.

“How’s your leg?” he asks.

“You already asked,” I say, my lips twitching at the change of topic. “It’s fine. But I need to take my pills. Come on—let’s eat first.”

He just looks at me for a moment, then nods and steps away from the door, giving it a quick glance, like he half expects Ernest to come crashing back in.

“Let’s go,” I say, reaching for him.

Xavier looks down at my hand like I’ve just done something miraculous—then takes it. And my heart stumbles a little—because he’s so touch-starved, even something this small seems to undo him.

In the kitchen, he plates the rest of the food, and we sit down to eat. It feels almost domestic—the quiet, the way he keeps sneaking glances at me like he’s waiting for me to say something, even though he won’t say anything first.

“What?” I ask, chewing a piece of avocado.

“That journalist,” he says suddenly. “The one who offered information in exchange for an interview. I want to talk to her.”

“You what now?” I blink. “You want to talk to Selena Hast?”