Page 139 of Handsome Devil
Worming out of his embrace, I cleared my throat. “We disconnected her from her feeding tubes ten days ago, but she’s still hanging on.”
Tate’s gaze dragged along my mother’s ashen face. Anger sizzled in my veins. Couldn’t he at leastfakeconcern? I was his wife. The least he could do was pretend to give a crap.
Tate jerked his chin once. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“I haven’t asked for your help,” I bit out. “Trust me, I know you wouldn’t mind relieving her of her existence.”
I immediately regretted my words. Did I just out my husband as a murderer?
“I mean…because you’re a first-rate arsehole,” I mumbled.
Not a muscle in Tate’s face moved. “Clearly.”
“Okay, I know this is bad timing but…” Dylan picked up her bag, checking her wristwatch. “I have to go study.” She walked over to give me a hug. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Thank you.”
“I need to pick Serafina and Gravity up from preschool.” Cal embraced me quickly, suddenly eager to leave too. “Please let me know if there are any updates. Row will drop by again with food for you and the staff.”
“That’s so generous of you both, Cal.”
“Enzo.” My husband turned to my bodyguard. “Get out.”
“Can’t. I’m on the job.” Enzo shrugged.
“You’ll havenojob if you don’t obey me,” Tate clarified. “I am perfectly capable of protecting my wife.”
“She’s not the one in need of protection. You, on the other hand, look like you’re about to get ripped a new one.”
Tate gave him a stare that’d make Satan shrivel under a rock.
“Whatever. I still need to catch up on episode four hundred and twelve on my totally-not-porn manga story.” Enzo shrugged, fishing for the phone in his pocket. “I’m wearing green to your funeral, by the way.”
“That’s my least favorite color.”
“I know.” He left the room.
Just the three of us remained in the room: Tate, my mother, and me. I refluffed her pillow for the hundredth time. Tate’s gaze seared the back of my neck.
“You didn’t tell me your mother was comatose.”
“You didn’t ask.” I picked up my coffee. Anger bubbled up in my stomach like bile. “In fact, you’ve never once asked about my mother since we got married.”
“Not because I don’t care.”
“Oh no?” I turned to look at him skeptically.
“No.” His eyes bore into mine.
“Then why?”
“Because I was too fucking terrified what the answer meant forus. I’ve shared my deepest, darkest secrets with you,” Tate said slowly. “And you didn’t even tell me how dire your mother’s condition is?”
For the first time since I’d known him, he looked genuinely hurt. Not irritated. Not inconvenienced.Hurt. It gave me a glimpse of Tate as a child. Gray, glittering eyes that refused to blink from fear of shedding a tear. And lips pressed together from fear a scream would escape.
“What do you want me to say, Tate?” I sighed. “I told you I was falling in love with you, and in return, you wagged your finger at me, gave me the silent treatment, and then fucked me in the ass.”
Tate glanced at my mother, elevating an eyebrow.
