Page 143 of The Legend (Rivers Wilde 2)

“What the fuck does that mean?” I step away from the sink and she hops down.

“You don’t get to forbid me from doing anything. Loving me, being my man, doesn’t mean you own me.”

Her voice is matter of fact. She grabs a towel from the warming rack on the wall and wraps it around her naked body.

“I know I don’t own you. But I own that story.” I follow her out of the bathroom and lean back on the dresser as she starts to get dressed.

“You don’t own that either, Remi,” she says, her raised voice ratchets up the challenge in her words.

“The hell I don’t. I told you half of that in confidence,” I push back.

She sighs deeply, and I can see how exhausted she is. “I would never have published it without your permission. But you have to understand that you don’t own it. None of us do. And even if I don’t, someone is going to tell it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about it before?”

“When did I have time? When we were falling back in love and I didn’t even remember my own name? Or when your dad showed up? Or when we came back to Houston and you were busy trying to decode your family’s rendition of Hamlet? Or when you found out before I could tell you and wouldn’t let me explain?” she says in a furious whisper.

“Yes, Kal. Any of those times.”

“That’s easy for you to say now. I was going to tell you. You weren’t exactly in a great state of mind when I got to your cottage and honestly, neither was I. And I was trying to kill it.” She snaps the front closure of her bra and then pulls a long-sleeved white T-shirt out of her bag and slips it on.

“You were going to kill it? You fucking wrote it,” I bite back.

“To show you. To maybe convince you that I should tell it. That maybe it would be good for you.” She shakes her head in exasperation and digs around in her bag.

“The way you found it, I understand how angry you are. But you can’t not let me explain, Remi. And you can’t ever handle me like that again. Ever.” She points a finger back at me and then sits down to slip her jeans on.

“Where are you going?”

“The last ten days have been intense. I don’t think we should be making decisions when we’re both so emotional.”

Alarm pings from my head to my chest and back again. I drop down on my haunches so that our eyes are level. Hers are shuttered, and even though she’s sitting right in front of me, she’s never felt farther away.

“What decisions?”

“Any decisions, Remi. Except for the ones that have been made for us, I mean.” She looks so tired. Her eyes are distant and I can feel her slipping away.

“Fine, maybe get some rest and we’ll talk later,” I say cautiously, not sure I want to know where her train of thought is headed.

“I can’t focus on us right now. My daughter is coming and I don’t want any drama around her. She’s had enough of it and I want her to like it here. And I’ve got to figure things out with work. I’ve just got stuff to do. I’m going back to the hotel.” She says stiffly.

Disappointment is a cold knife to my heart. “So… you don’t want me to meet Bianca?” I ask even though I know the answer.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I just need to think.” She avoids my eyes and let her because the distance in them is almost more than I can fucking stand.

The tangle of emotions that are running riot through her have tentacles and they reach out and wrap themselves around me. I feel her regret most keenly, but I also feel her anger.

She’s seething. I glance at her. She’s wrapped her arms around herself and she’s staring straight ahead.

“What can I do?” I ask, and hear the desperation in my voice.

She shakes her head slowly, her shoulder slump.

“Remi. You don’t trust me. There’s a part of me that understands. But, we have to work on that and I think maybe some space will be good for both of us. We’ve been in this pressure cooker for the last two weeks, and I’m fried. Maybe we’ll be fine. Or maybe we’ll realize that this was all too much, too soon. Either way, I think we should take a break.”

42

WHITE KNIGHT

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