Page 58 of Mark Me

Her eyes go wide. She steps inside, taking it all in. The priceless paintings, the shelves of leather-bound books, the artefacts of a legacy too heavy to bear. I watch her and see the awe flicker across her features, which hits me hard. That look—it’s how I feel about her. But there’s no way to say it, no words grand enough to explain this feeling to her.

“Like it?” I ask, trying not to place too much into the outcome of that question as I close the door behind us, shutting out the rest of the world.

“It’s like something out of a movie,” she replies, a laugh escaping her, light and genuine.

Raking a hand through my hair, I smile. There’s an itch under my skin, a need to let her see past all this, past the Duke, to the person who stands before her now, stripped bare of titles and expectations.

Or at least trying to be.

“Ever, I—“ The words are on the tip of my tongue, but they’re just words, and they seem so inadequate. How do you tell someone that the way they look at a room, with stars in their eyes, is nothing compared to the galaxies they’ve set spinning in your soul?

Biting the inside of my cheek and watching Ever’s reaction turn to curiosity about me. I’ve got to do this; she’s slipping through my fingers, getting closeenough to Ben to kiss, leaning into Charlie as if they are sharing some secret no one else is privy to, and Damien... that one hurts in ways that twist my guts. I’m not good at this. I’m intense and instil fear or, at the very least, caution. I don’t have an innate charm that will draw her into my web. It has to be demanded in a way that will mean opening up my closed soul to her and getting past the humiliation and vulnerability this is going to cause me.

“Ever,” I start, then stop again. She waits, her green eyes steady on me. They constantly change like the sea—now they’re dark, deep.

“That’s my name; don’t wear it out,” she jokes softly as I stand here like an utter pillock, not knowing where to start.

“There’s something I’ve never told anyone.”

She tilts her head, silent encouragement without a single word. My mouth is dry, and my heart slams against my ribs like it wants to break free. I force the words out.

“When I was seven, my dad... he was more the Duke than a father. He’d swoop in, all thunder and no shelter.” I pause, swallowing hard. “One night, he caught me playing on my phone past bedtime. The phone was smashed in front of me as he ranted and raved about regiment and organisation, shouting about wasted time playing games when I should be reading a book. It scared me. It was probably the first time I remember where he went off on one.”

Ever’s face doesn’t change, but her eyes do—fierce and raging against what I’ve said.

“It got worse from then on. It was like being in the military. Since then, trust has been like handing someone that same phone, hoping they won’t stamp on it and destroy it. He ripped through my confidence, piece by piece. Like paper.”

Ever leans in, her green eyes sharp with intensity. She doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t try to fill the silence that screams louder than any words could.

“Every shout, every lash of the belt was like another brick in the wall I built around myself.” The memories claw at my insides, raw and bleeding. “I guess part of me still hears his voice when I make decisions. Do they measure up? Would he sneer at them? It sometimes makes me seem indecisive, but it’s not that. I’m waiting to get a read on the situation, so I don’t fuck up. Or on the flip side of this gold coin, sometimes I’m too forceful and arrogant when I know I’m right. It’s like I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. For people to leave, to realise I’m not worth their time. Do you know what my father’s last words were on his deathbed?”

She shakes her head.

“You’re not ready.”

“What?” She blinks back her surprise.

“Yeah. Not I’m proud of you, or I’m sorry for being a dick all your life, or you’ll do great at this Duke thing. No. It was one last stab at the confidence I was trying to rebuild by being away from the fucker, here where I was accepted, revered, even.” I run a hand through my hair, frustration knotting my stomach at having to dredge all this bullshit up just tomake a chink in the wall Ever has up. “I know all of this about myself. I’m not walking around with my head up my ass. But I want you to know, in part, why I am the way I am. I don’t want to scare you off, but I can’t seem to tone it down, either.”

Ever’s expression doesn’t shift, but something in her posture softens. It makes me realise we are still standing in the middle of the room like two spare parts. I didn’t even ask if she wanted to sit. But she’s here, really here, listening to the havoc that’s been festering inside me for years. But she doesn’t say anything.

“Sometimes, I think if I let someone in, if they see all this fucked up shit,” I gesture at myself, “they’ll bolt. So, I push first. It’s easier than waiting to be pushed away.”

Her brows knit together; she’s piecing together the puzzle of who I am, and it terrifies me because no one has ever cared to look that close before.

“I know how that goes,” she murmurs.

Her hand, tentative and soft, lands on mine. Her touch sends sparks through me, a comfort I didn’t know I craved. The warmth from her skin bleeds into my cold flesh, thawing the icy barriers. I look down at our intertwined fingers, then at her face, and her eyes still with a silent promise that she’s here, not just physically but with every shred of her being.

“You are not this terrifying old Duke who sits on his throne of bones, shaking his fist at everyone who passes. You are amazing, Alistair. Look at everything you have come through, and you are here doingpretty fucking great if my peek at the Chancellor’s list is anything to go by.”

I squint at her. “How did you get eyes on that, little angel?”

She smirks. “I have my ways.”

“Well, I’m surprised you aren’t accusing me of paying my way.” The cutting remark is out before I can stop it, and she tilts her head.

“You spoke to Damien.”

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