Page 124 of Van Cort

He throws the shirt to the ground, discarding it, as he continues into the dressing area, hidden from my view at the threshold of his room. My heart lurches at the implication that he’s been with someone else. No. It cracks, fissures splitting with the realisation that this is all just fake. His supposed feelings, the proposal.

How can you propose after cheating on someone?

He walks back out of the walk-in and sees me at the door. The look on my face must cause him alarm because the stoic mask that’s been in place since the vault slips, a crease over his eye, the only sign of concern.

“Where did you get them from?” I nod at him. “The scratch marks you’ve just covered up.”

“I seem to remember your talons doing the damage, sweetheart. I’m a little disappointed you don’t recall. I certainly enjoyed it.”

“No. No!” I turn and storm out. “You did not have them when you spent the night with me.” I turn around, needing to see his face as I question him. “The last time we slept together, you did not have scratches on your back. So, why? Why do you want to marry me if you’re so unhappy that you’ll cheat at the first opportunity?”

He sighs. “I’ve not been with anyone other than you, River.”

“Fine. You don’t cheat. Then explain it to me.” I dare him. Because I need an explanation that makes sense. I need to know I’m not going mad, and he needs to tell me that it’s a simple mistake.

“I have never, and will never, lie to you.”

“Great. You’re honest. So honest you’re declaring your version of love one minute and cheating the next.” My anger burns in my veins that he’s done this to me, and I want to push him, shove him towards telling me the truth, exposing all of the emotion he was clearly keeping locked away as securely as the gold in his vault. “Did you even mean to propose, or was it just an obligation. Do you need a wife to unlock the family fortune or something?” I jest but know I’ve said the wrong thing the second it’s out of my mouth.He blanches at my words, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to apologise, but I can’t. Not when everything hangs in the balance like this. “When you told me that you were giving me a part of your soul, did you mean it? Do you comprehend what it means to love someone so much that you want to spend the rest of your life with them? I’m not sure I do.”

“I do.”

“Really?” I push.

There has to be an explanation. The questions, the names, the little things that all seem silly and unimportant. One minute he’s angry, the next showing me romance. Yet he proposes like he’s entering a business contract.

Little things.

Over time.

They all make me question whether I know him at all.

“Do you promise me, on my life, the life of the woman who you say you love enough to want to spend the rest of your life with, that you’d never cheat and be with another woman?”

“Yes.” But he turns away, pulling his phone from his pocket and striding out to the main room.

“Everett? What the hell?”

He doesn’t turn around, still on his phone.

My hands grab my head, which is ready to explode, maybe with anger, maybe from confusion, and maybe from sadness thathe thinks, in his heart, that the way he’s being with me now, is perfectly acceptable. And how do I justify that?

I follow him. “I’m asking you to explain how those scratches weren’t on you the last time we were together, and you’re busy texting or checking your phone?”

“They were on me the last time we were together. You put them there, River.”

“You said you’d never lie to me.”

“I haven’t lied. You just can’t see the truth.”

“Truth?” I spit at him. “You toss that word around, and I’m surprised it doesn’t burn on your lips, Everett.” I’m goading him because the unthinkable is starting to form in my mind, and I don’t know what I’m going to do if the only answer left for my sanity is the one that might also break me. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Do you really want to marry me?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell me the fucking truth.”

CHAPTER FORTY - ONE

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