But one look at the way he cringed from my approach told me that any attempt at comfort would only backfire. “I know that was… a lot to take in. But I need you to stay calm and let me explain—” “You’re—” he began, then stopped, swallowing hard. His gaze kept darting between my face and the bloodied corpse on the yacht, as if unable to fully process either sight. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The question shocked me into silence. Because I didn’t want this very reaction, not when I was enjoying the way you smiled at me so often. “I was… getting around to it,” I suggested, the sentence sounding weak
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