Page 85 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

“No,” he replies flatly.

“No?”

“It’s done. I took care of it. You don’t owe me anything.”

The sick feeling in her belly wanes as the burning rises to her chest. The ache is undeniable, as is the sting of tears that prickles the back of her eyes.

“I don’t want to argue about this. Please. Tell me how much I owe you.”

He takes a step toward her, all but eliminating the space between them. When he reaches up and buries his fingers in the back of her hair, holding her still as he stares unrelentingly into her eyes, her arms drop to her sides helplessly.

“We’re not going to argue because there’s nothing to argue about. I wanted to pay for your mother’s funeral, and so I did. I wanted to pay for her hospital stay, and so I did. I remember the way you kissed me when you got the news that sent you running to her bedside; and for the last week, I’ve watched you crawl through the mire of your pain.

“In case I didn’t make it perfectly clear how I feel last night, you’re mine. I laid it out, you made your choice, and so you’re mine. When a woman is mine, I see to it that she’s taken care of. This is not about money. Do you hear me? This is about you, spending the last few years of your life doing everything within your power to help support the woman who raised you. This is about you, being so fucking loyal you offered me your body to make ends meet.

“The way I see it, you’ve got an apartment in Brooklyn you need to deal with, you’ve got no job—which, technically, is my doing—and the last thing you need is to carry the financial burden of the woman you lost while you’re trying to see your way through your grief.

“This is not a handout. This is me, offering my loyalty to you the only way I know how. So, for the last time, you don’t owe me anything. And I told you last night—there are no promises here. I’m not playing games with you, either. You can take it or leave it—but when I tell you I’m here and I’m not going anywhere, it means I see you. I see the kind of woman you are, I’m giving in, and I’m holding on.This is not about money.”

When Khalohn is finished, he lets her go, grabs his coffee, and starts for his office without a backwards glance. Jessica blinks, hardly aware of the tears racing toward her chin as she stares into the empty space he occupied. She’s so overwhelmed by all he said, she feels numb. Then, slowly, her fingers and toes start to tingle. With each breath she sucks in, she feels more alive, until her chest is burning.

Sealing her eyes closed tight, she blindly reaches out in search of every emotion coursing through her veins. Grief. Regret. Loss. Fear. And love. Above all the rest,love.Homing in on it causes it to spread, until the amount of love she feels is so much it hurts.

In that moment, she knows there’s only one way to get through the pain.

There’s only one way to process all Khalohn said and the depths to which she feels his declarations. Gone is her desire to take the easy way out. To procrastinate. To avoid.

It’s time to face the music.

Jessica turns on her heel, leaves her coffee behind, and heads to the gym—to dance.

Jessica dances untilher body begins to protest, then she drags herself to the shower. She cries the entire time she bathes. When she’s finished, still wrapped in only a towel, she wanders back into the bedroom in search of her phone. She pulls up their thread of messages, props herself against the side of the unmade bed, and types out what feels like a desperate plea.

Our place? 2:00?

She doesn’t have to wait long before Stefano’s reply arrives.

I’ll be there. You okay?

Jessica doesn’t answer right away. Her phone still gripped in her hands, her legs carrying her slowly back to the bathroom, she takes stock of her emotions. She’s halfway through the day, but she feels like it’s been days since she woke up, the events leading up until now yanking her all about mentally.

Just need to see you.

It’s the best answer she can give, so she leaves it at that. It’s nearly an hour later when she makes her way to Khalohn’s office. Upon reaching the door, she hovers timidly, peeking in on him where he sits behind his desk. Just the sight of his clean-shaven face is enough to make her heart skip a beat. When he lifts his gaze, giving her his perfectly blue eyes, her feet move of their own accord.

Khalohn smells her perfume before he looks up and sees her standing at the threshold of his office. He takes her in, assessing her. It’s been a couple hours since their confrontation in the kitchen. As unsure as he’s been about whether or not he was too harsh with her, given her fragile state, he doesn’t regret a word he said. Studying her at her approach, his doubts evaporate.

She’s dressed in a pair of jeans, cut low around her hips. A sliver of bare skin is on display in the gap between her jeans and her cropped, loose fitting, ACDC t-shirt. Her long, thick hair is loose—full and slightly wavy as it falls down her chest and back. Her face bears a hint more color than he’s seen recently; and while her makeup is barely noticeable, her natural beauty taking center stage, he still notices a touch of it is there.

“Do you have a minute?” she inquires, halfway to his desk.

“Yes,” he returns, shifting his chair in subtle invitation.

Jessica comes to stand beside him, propping her backside against the front of his desk. She looks down at her feet, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear as she informs him, “I’m going to go out for a little bit. Stefano and I—we have this place…” Her voice trails off, she shakes her head and then sighs, “I just need to see him.”

“Do you need a ride? I can arrange for Atzel—”

“No, please,” she insists, lifting her head and giving him her brown eyes. “Thank you. I, um, I’ll find my way. I—I don’t know. It might sound stupid but—I kind of want to get lost in the city. The feel of it. I miss it.”

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