Page 42 of Thrones We Steal

The slosh of a drink being poured is the only sound in the room.

“I don’t,” I say and take another sip.

I’m still facing the window and his gaze on my back is like the tip of a knife blade. I rub at the goose bumps on my arm, present in spite of the sweater I’m wearing.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Not in the slightest.” The remainder of my whiskey slides down my throat like hot lava.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Whatever gives you that idea?”

The sound of a match striking pulls my attention across the room to where he’s kneeling before the fireplace, logs stacked and ready for burning.

“Just a hunch,” he says.

I walk over to the bar and slosh more of the golden liquid into my glass. “I don’t know why the bloody hell I’m here.”

“Nothing to do with the fact that we owe Parliament our answer tomorrow.”

I should ask him what he thinks we should do, but the words are peanut butter-ed to the roof of my mouth. “Well it’s certainly not for the company.”

“I’m assuming you talked with your fiancé?”

“Yep.”

“What happened?”

“What do you think?” I hold up my naked left hand.

A frown creases his brow. “He let you go?”

“What was he supposed to do after I told him I was considering marriage to someone else?”

“I sure as hell would have fought harder than that for the woman I love.”

“I wasn’t aware you’ve ever loved anyone besides yourself,” I say.

“Would you know if I had?”

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that a guy who sleeps with a different woman every night doesn’t know what it’s like to truly love someone.”

“Unless, of course, he did.”

The look on his face begs me to feel guilty so I move to refill my tumbler. Again. Why has it taken me so long to enjoy hard liquor? This buzzy warmth is really quite nice.

“Maybe you should slow down,” he says.

“Maybe you should mind your own business.”

“C, we have a lot to discuss. I just think you should have a clear head for it.”

I slam the glass down on the bar. “Don’t you dare tell me how to conduct myself. Not when you’re a disgusting, drunk man-whore yourself.”

He chuckles mildly, like he can’t believe I just said that. I can’t either, come to think of it. “At least come sit down.” He gestures toward the sofa in the center of the room.

“I’ll stand, thanks.”

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