Page 134 of A Smile Full of Lies
“More than ever.”
He nodded once.
“Good. Because I think you need space and time to heal. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe. You’re not ready to be back in the world yet, Ros — not with the press hounding you, and not with me this close to losing my fucking mind every time I remember how pale and lifeless you were in that fucking hospital bed.”
He looked down and breathed through his nose, working to rein himself in.
“I have a place,” he said finally. “On the Tensaw river. It’s isolated, there are no neighbors, and I keep it stocked and ready. You’d have peace, time to write, and time to breathe. You’d be protected.”
It sounded like heaven in theory, but it felt like exile in reality.
“You’re sending me away,” I said quietly.
Knox shook his head.
“I’m giving you what you need to get better.”
Frustration boiled up inside me and hot tears pricked at the back of my eyes. I blinked them away.
“But I want you.”
His gaze burned into mine.
“And you’ll have me, sweetheart, but not until you’re fully healed.”
All the hair stood up on my arms and the back of my neck as his voice dropped to a whisper. Something dark unfurled in his gaze and bared its teeth.
My lip trembled.
“Why?”
He smiled, and sirens started going off inside my mind, sending my internal warning system on high alert.
“Because when I finally touch you again, Ros? It’s not going to be gentle.”
And just like that, I understood. He wasn’t pushing me away. He was holding back… for now.
But only because when he finally broke and unleashed that darkness I saw lurking just beneath his tightly controlled facade? He wanted me strong enough to take it.
“I— I’ll think about it.”
That was a damn lie. The truth was, I already knew I’d go.
Not because I wanted to. Not because I believed I needed time and quiet and space to bleed words onto the page about how his family died and who their killer turned out to be.
I’d go because it felt like the only real choice he was offering me. And because some stupid, desperate part of me wanted to prove I could be strong enough to endure the still before the storm.
I wanted to be strong enough to write the story, strong enough to be apart from him, strong enough to make him proud of me.
He didn’t ask again that night. He just brushed my hair behind my ear and kissed my forehead like I was something breakable. He treated me like I wasn’t his to touch. Not again… not yet.
He slept in the bed with me, but didn’t so much as slide a hand beneath my shirt. He didn’t kiss me again. My chest ached when he didn’t even spoon up behind me when I woke up gasping at three in the morning, sweating and shaking from a dream I couldn’t fully remember.
I hated the distance. Hated the silence between us. Hated the way I caught him watching me when he thought I wasn’t looking, his jaw tight, his beautiful blue eyes darker than I’d ever seen them.
He wanted me. He just wouldn’t take me. Not until I was healed.
And I told myself that was okay. That I could wait. That I understood.
