Page 133 of A Smile Full of Lies
I pushed myself upright slowly, wincing as the stitches tugged beneath the bandages on my ribs and chest. A dull throb radiated through my side, sharp enough to remind me I was alive. The sun filtered in through the curtains, casting long bars of gold across the floor. I waited for the sound of footsteps, the creak of that familiar floorboard outside the door.
What I got was nothing.
I made it to the bathroom and back with monumental effort, then settled in bed again, heart drumming with something I didn’t want to name.
He came in with a tray of tea and toast twenty minutes later, shoulders tense, jaw tight. He didn’t meet my eyes when he set it down.
“You disappeared,” I said quietly.
His gaze flicked to mine.
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
I chewed on my bottom lip for a second.
“I thought maybe you changed your mind about not leaving me.”
He stared at me like I’d said something utterly ludicrous and shook his head.
“You need to rest.”
I crossed my arms, wincing at the way the movement made my entire torso scream with discomfort.
“What I need is you.”
That cracked something in his expression. He knelt beside the bed again, his hand brushing my thigh through the blanket.
“I don’t trust myself with you right now, Ros,” he said, voice low. “You almost died. I’ve never been that scared in my entire fucking life. And every time I look at you, all I want to do is take you apart and remind you that you’re mine.”
My breath caught.
“But I can’t touch you — not like that — until you’re healed,” he said, lifting my hand to his lips. “So I’m staying close. But I’m keeping my distance. Because if I don’t…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. I already felt it in my bones. There was going to be a reckoning between us about what I’d done, but not until he felt sure I could take whatever he was planning to do.
Knox sat with me while I ate, his thumb stroking lazy circles over my wrist like he was trying to memorize the rhythm of my pulse. He didn’t say much — just watched me with those storm-dark blue eyes, protective and possessive and barely reined in.
When I finished, he took the tray and set it aside, then turned back to me with a look that made my stomach knot.
“I want to talk to you about something,” he said.
I braced myself for the worst.
“Okay?”
He hesitated. Just for a second, then cleared his throat.
“You made me a promise. About the book… about writing the truth about what happened to my family.”
Oh.
“What about it?”
His jaw twitched.
“You still want to write it after what happened with Thayer when you uncovered the truth?”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly tight.
