hurrying away, but I caught her. I took her in my arms, hearing her squeal as I pressed my chest into her back. I forced her into the darkened doorway of the drawing room and reached around, taking her jaw in my hand. She tried to wriggle out of my hold, but I didn’t give a shit if she drew blood or ripped out my throat. I was seeing this through. I had questions. Like why didn’t she tell me what was happening at home? Or why couldn’t she trust me? I was patient. I would’ve understood. I wouldn’t have disappointed her.
