Page 103 of The Grand Duel
“What do you need?”
My sister.
I need Jovie.
“Nothing,” I whisper, fighting back inevitable tears. “I’m okay.”
Charles stares through me, his jaw clenching. “What happened?”
“It was just something I remembered.”
His eyes flick around my face, unwilling to look away.
“You’re here now.” I force a smile, making sure the stray tear that fell is gone, brushed away. “I’m sorry for making such a fuss.” I twist to sit square in the seat, removing him from the space between my legs.
I peer down at him still beside me. “I’m okay, Charles.”
He gives me a slight nod, those blue eyes not leaving me.
“Shall we go?” I say nervously, wishing he’d get into his seat and stop giving me such an intense look. I can already feel the adrenaline wearing off and mortification taking its place.
I’m too much.
I can see the way he’s looking at me.
Charles eventually stands, straightening out his suit. As he steps to the side to pick up his discarded laptop, I notice the small takeaway bag on the table behind him.
He shifts in front of me before I can see what the name on the bag reads.
As he settles in the seat next to me, I take a long, deep breath in, letting my body relax now Charles is here.
I don’t know why what just happened, happened, but I do know I didn’t make it up. I may have left that night as a ten-year-old girl somewhere in the past, shielded myself from it, but it made its mark. It wasn’t a new terror that wakes you in the dead of night in a cold sweat. It was the brush of a finger over a deep scar I somehow forgot ever existed.
Does Jovie remember?
“I’m sorry, Lissie. I didn’t realise how late it was.”
“No, please. I was being silly.”
“You’re not silly,” he says in earnest.
I meet his eyes and find that same pained look from before. I roll my lips, swallowing around the emotion still lodged in my throat, knowing I can’t let it out.
“Can I try and cheer you up?”
The corner of my lip lifts, and it instantly triggers a fresh wave of tears. I blink them away. “You don’t need to. I promise, I’m good.”
He leans past me and picks up the bag from the table. I can’t help but breathe him in, the fresh smell of his body wash.
It reminds me of something…
Something sacred and?—
“I thought, as we’d be out of the country for our weekly ice cream date.” I look at him and then back down at the ice cream pots in his hands. “An unorthodox ice cream breakfast would ensure we’re not breaking any of those rules of yours.”
“You got ice cream?”
“It’s partially why I was late,” he says apologetically, holding them up. “This and my parents.”