Page 138 of A Forgotten Promise

The food and the liquid have sobered me up, and I sigh as he wraps his arm around me. We haven’t kissed since before the Vito-geddon. I should just turn and press my lips against his.

Though kissing feels very intimate right now, and something feels off.

We watch the dancing flames in silence, and I try not to project, but Corm emanates tension even as he pulls me closer to him.

What a beautiful setup for a romantic evening—not that I’m into romance—but I’m consumed with insecurities.

Does he regret last night? Our conversation? Or rather, his declaration? Did he change his mind? Is he upset I didn’t wake him up before I left?

Fuck this. If we’re trying this for real, I’m not going to construct and guess. “What is wrong?” I ask.

“What did the lawyer say?” he asks at the same time.

I shift around on the seat, so I’m facing him, cross-legged. “My father dissolved my trust fund.”

I never wanted my father’s money in the first place. I went after it out of sheer necessity. In fact, only because Vito encouraged it.

He made me believe I deserved the hand-down from people who should have been there for me many times in my life, but they never were.

And still, my father’s decision stinks. It hurts while it shouldn’t. It spreads misery it doesn’t warrant. It burns inside me like acid, spreading through my organs slowly and painfully.

“How do you feel about it?” Corm takes my hand in his large warm one, but his gaze remains on the fire.

For a man who glares and stares, he’s avoiding eye contact a lot tonight.

“I mean, I was broke before, so that’s not a new feeling. I don’t know, getting drunk probably wasn’t the best way to assess or address the feelings, but it was a good way to delay my real reaction.”

“I’m sorry.” He bows his head, sighing.

This is not a sorry about the discovery. This sorry feels more significant. He’s not telling me something—

“You knew?” I search his face, hoping for his denial, but it isn’t there.

He finally meets my eyes and nods. “Yes.”

“How?” That is really not a question that matters at the moment, but my mind is misfiring in too many directions.

He looks at me deadpan. “The same way I knew you were at the club last night. Or what happened with your money.”

I push off the seat and slide farther from him. “How long have you known?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “For a while.”

“So you knew I don’t need this deal, and you didn’t tell me?”

I spring up and round the fire-pit table, creating a distance between us. I’m hurt, disappointed, outraged, confused. All at once.

In the absence of being able to yell at Vito or my father, Corm becomes a very satisfying target.

He stands up, our gazes colliding. I glare, and he pleads.

Standing above the flames, the yellow flickers of the fire dance across his beautiful face. And just looking at him is devastating.

I was shell-shocked when I found out about Vito’s betrayal—this—Jesus, was it only this morning?

I was deflated and hurt when I found out my father had disinherited me.

But neither of those revelations—however negative—gutted me as much as Corm’s admission.

---