Page 232 of By His Rule

There’s no noise from the other side, and I begin to wonder if she’s crawled into my bed and passed out. I’m weirdly excited about the idea that she’s found comfort in my space.

Twisting the handle, I push the door open and look inside.

“Hey,” I say when I spot her emerging from my bathroom.

My sweats look massive on her. I can’t see her waist because of my equally large hoodie, but something tells me they are beyond cinched and tied tight to keep them up. She looks incredible, but it’s not her clothing that catches my attention, it’s her red puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks that make my heart bleed.

“Babe,” I start, but she holds her hand up, stopping me.

“Can we not?” she asks, walking across the room and attempting to slip behind me in her quest to escape.

My hand darts out, my fingers wrapping around her wrist, stopping her.

“It’s okay to be upset, Lorelei,” I say.

“I’m exhausted, Kian,” she confesses without looking at me. “The past few days have been a lot. Hell, the last few weeks have.”

“Go and sit down on the couch. I’ll get you a drink and order food. What would you like?” I ask, half-expecting her to say McDonalds.

“Italian. I need pasta.”

“You’ve got it. I’ve got the perfect wine for it.”

“Sounds good,” Lorelei says, although her tone doesn’t match her words.

“Temptress,” I growl when she attempts to slip from my grip.

Finally, she looks up at me.

Her eyes are glassy and swollen from crying.

All I want to do is fix it, but I’ve no idea how.

“Everything is going to be okay,” I assure her.

“I know,” she says quietly before pulling her arm from my fingers and walking away from me.

I watch her go, kicking myself for not doing better.

This is all new to me. I’ve never cared about how a woman is feeling before. Never wanted to make everything better.

When I get back down to the living area, I find her curled up in the corner of my sectional with her arms wrapped around her legs.

She looks so small, so…un-Lorelei-like.

I hate it.

After pulling up my food delivery app, I find my favorite Italian restaurant and order what I hope is going to be the comfort food she craves before pulling out a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator and pouring us both a glass.

“Here you go,” I say, passing it over.

“Thank you,” she says absently, her eyes locked on the view of the city before us.

When I first moved here, I would notice it every single day. But at some point, it became normal. But as I lower myself next to Lorelei, I force myself to really look again.

“I’ve ordered dinner,” I assure her. “It shouldn’t be too long.”

She nods, but she doesn’t say a word. She just continues staring.

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