Page 98 of Keep Me In Your Heart

“Why should we leave our daughter with you?” the man argues as he takes his place at his wife’s side.

“BecauseIlove her, you fucking twats. And I wouldnevertalk to her the way the pair of you do. And for your information,” I add, pulling open the front door to find a deluge coming down outside. I put my finger in Sylvie’s mother’s face this time as I lean in. “Your child issupposedto be the center of your universe, you ungrateful, selfish bitch.”

I toss them both into the rain. They’re both so appalled by my reactions that it grates on my nerves. Has no one ever defended Sylvie around these two in her entire life? What sort of damage could a pair of incompetent, emotionally neglectful parents like these do to a person?

They’re both gaping in shock on the front step of my house. Before shutting the door, I turn and see the red and gold pattern on the floor. In a fit of anger, I pick up the square rug and roll it quickly in my hands before hauling it toward the frail, frightened people standing just a few feet away.

“Here! Take the fucking rug.” It lands with a thud on the ground in front of them, getting soaked by the rain. Then I slam the front door closed and force myself to steady my heavy breathing.

I hear the closing of a car door outside before I dare to leave that spot. When I make out the sound of gravel under their tires, I finally leave the front door in search of Sylvie.

To my surprise, she’s no longer in the parlor or in the entryway. I nearly panic when I hear her footsteps upstairs in the library.

“Sylvie!” I shout, desperate for her reaction. I need to hear that she’s okay.

A moment later, she’s stomping angrily down the stairs, tears streaming down her face while wearing an expression of stubborn rage. In her arms, she’s hoisting the typewriter down toward the front door.

“What are you doing?” I stammer before she clumsily tears open the door and storms through it. I watch with confusion as she sends the typewriter soaring into the rain. “Sylvie, stop!”

I grab at her arm, but she shakes it free. Running out into the rain, she stomps her boot into the typewriter over and over, sending shards of broken wood and keys flying. At one point, I just stop trying to save it. If this is what she needs, then I’ll let her have it.

Finally, I walk over and take hold of her arm again. “Mo ghràidh,” I whisper.

To my surprise, my wife turns toward me in anger. “Leave me alone, Killian! You lied! You don’t love me! You’re not my husband. None of this is real!”

I grab her by the arms to stop her. “What are you talking about? Of course, I love you.”

She struggles to shake free of my grip. “You donow,but the novelty will wear off. You’ll get sick of me, or I’ll ask too much, and then you’ll get angry at me. Didn’t you see the way they looked at me, Killian? How could you love someone who isn’t loved by her own parents?”

My mind is reeling as I stare at her in this state. This isn’t the Sylvie I know. Her eyes are wild and frantic andscared.I just want my wife back.

When she finally slips out of my grip from the rain on our skin, I watch in horror as she takes off in a sprint toward the trees lining the property and quickly disappears.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The rain pelts my skin as I take off in a sprint down the grassy field toward the trees. The sound of the rain muffles her footsteps, but I still see movement up ahead. With the sun setting now, the sky is growing dark, and I’m losing sight of my wife. But I won’t panic. She can’t go far before she’ll hit the road or the river.

“Sylvie, please,” I beg only a few feet behind her. “You’re soaked, darling.”

“Leave me alone, Killian,” she shouts back as she continues marching away from our home.

“Where are you going?” I call.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. Sylvie, please. Fuck them!”

When she doesn’t respond, I pick up my speed. Only a few feet away from her, I’m finally able to get ahold of her. With a rough hand around her arm, I stop her from running any further away. Instead, I pin her against a tree, and I put my face in hers.

“Stop running from me, damn it!”

“Leave me alone, Killian!” she fights back.

“No!” I bellow close to her. “I’m your husband. I won’t let you go. I willalwaysbe by your side. I willalwayscare about you, youunderstand?”

Tears fall against her cheeks, blending with the drops of rain that continue to pour down on us. “You’re not really—”

I quickly cut her off. “Don’t you say that to me again, Sylvie Barclay. I don’t care about some stupid fucking contract. I love you. With my whole fucking chest, I love you. So don’t give me any of that shite about not being your real husband, because I’m right here. And I’ll never fucking leave you, not like they did.”

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