Page 134 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

Olivier gives me a leveling look. “Elodie’s seen them together. Marianne and Avery. Doing more than talking.”

This still means nothing in the grand scheme of things. We’re both free to pursue physical relationships with others. Still, Avery is different. I’ve known this for some time. But something about this particular piece of knowledge pricks me in a sore spot.

“Does Marianne know about you and Christian?” Ollie asks.

“I assume she’s heard something about it,” I say. She has contacts at the club, and assuming she keeps any sort of tabs on me—if only to shield her own liaisons from me—she’d likely know I’ve traded my pets for my assistant.

“Would she be okay with it if she did?” Olivier asks.

“It’s new, I…” I can’t finish that sentence.

“Maybe new, but it’s hard to believe you’d be here if it’s just some fling.”

“Do me a favor and don’t tell him that,” I say, attempting some levity.

It works because he grins.

Meanwhile, the prick I felt earlier feels more like a tear, an internal bleed. I clear my throat. “You’re right, though. It is more than a fling for me. I can’t speak for him.”

“Neither can I—he mystifies me—but going off the way he looks at you?—”

“Which is how?”

Olivier grins again. “You don’t see it? You’re constantly staring at him.”

“What does it look like to you?” I ask, positive I’m hemorrhaging by now.

“Like he’s yours.”

It’s a simple phrase spoken gently, and yet it feels like he just put a tight clamp around my heart. I run a hand through my hair and find myself nodding. “It’s been a wild few weeks,” I confess.

“I know the feeling.”

“Who fell first?” I ask. “You or Drew?”

He laughs. “Depends who you ask. But it was me. Granted, there was some shit holding me back, but not like what he was going through. And I wouldn’t have been able to name it at the time because I didn’t know what the fuck love even was, but he saw straight through me. And even the ugly parts were beautiful to him. When I realized I couldn’t scare him off…” He shrugs. “It’s not every day that someone accepts you in all your total imperfection. Your whole messy package.”

My throat constricts as I think about Marianne. What I accepted. What I never stopped loving. How I’ve devoted my life to reminding her she’s worthy of love like that. And those thoughts drift to Christian, and what I feel for him andfromhim. Our give and take. Our mutual craving. I’ve never felt anything like this for anyone buther. I’ve taken advantage of our arrangement to maintain my own sanity, but I have never once felt like my allegiance was torn—that my heart could betray her.

The thought pulls at me, and suddenly I’m caught in its undertow, sinking beneath the surface of this foggy day. My heart, a leaden weight, drags me under.

Because I doubt my ability to speak, I reach out, give Olivier’s shoulder a squeeze in acknowledgement of all he’s said andlistened to, and I stand. Instead of going into the house, I head down the steps of the porch and walk down the driveway, veering off into the woods where the fog is thicker, and the light is dimmer. I’m grateful to be wearing jeans and long sleeves, but given how off I feel, I doubt I’d notice all the branches and brush slashing at me.

I’m a ways in before my legs grow unsteady, and I have to sit. There’s a half-rotted log I settle on. Luckily, it doesn’t collapse. The enormous lump in my throat suddenly dislodges, and a sound like a sob erupts from my chest.

My face is dripping wet before I realize itwasa sob, and I’m crying. This is fucking new.

I’ve shed a few tears in my life, but this is…

A lot.

“Gibson?”

It’s Christian’s voice, but it’s far off still. I lift up my shirt, trying to clean my face, but it’s useless. I might not be wailing, but my eyes haven’t gotten the memo that I’m ready to be done crying.

“Gibson! Where the fuck are you?”

“Here,” I croak, and then more steadily, “Here.”

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