“You were washing your hands, turning them red.”
He lifts his palm and stares at it, brows furrowed. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you last night.”
“Hugo…” I grasp his hand, giving it no thought, and squeeze. “Stop apologizing.”
His gaze meets mine for three seconds before glancing off my shoulder. Shifting on the stool, I let go of his hand.
“Last night,” he says with a hard swallow. “Did I say anything?” He sounds more resigned than anything, which tells me he’s probably spoken in his sleep before.
“You did.”
“What did I say?” His fingers stall mid-tap.
“You were counting. The way you do.”
“Is that all?” As if bracing for the worst, he draws up his shoulders.
Sickness roils through me. My throat’s too tight, making it hard to speak. “That’s it.”
With a sigh, he lowers his head and drags both hands through his messy hair. “Just tell me, my queen. Please.”
My breath hitches. Oliver was right, that day in the penthouse. I’m a horrible liar.
“You said…” My vision blurs, and I will the tears not to fall. “You promised you wouldn’t tell, but you weren’t talking to me.” The next part barely makes it out. “You were talking to your mom.”
The color bleeds from his face, and for a second, I’m certain I’ve broken something I can’t put back together.
“She’s dead.” He goes so still I’m not sure he’s breathing. “Passed when I was thirteen. My father…I was younger when he died.”
Both of his parents. I know what that feels like.
“Can I ask…how?”
“She got sick, but my father…” His voice catches. “Boating accident, not long after I told him what she was doing to me. I was at the hospital when they took him off life support.”
His admission stuns me into silence. I didn’t expect him to voice it, and yet…there’s a black ocean of what he’snotsaying.
Reaching for it now would only pull us both under.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He lifts his head, eyes aimed my way but shying from contact. “I’m not that kid, Novalee. I promise you, I’m okay.”
I don’t believe him, the lie he tells himself.
Maybe to him, it’s not a lie.
Sometimes, it’s easier to lie to yourself than to anyone else.
He turns his cereal bowl a slow quarter-turn, and the shutters come down, gentler this time.
“You should finish your breakfast.” A dry, fragile note colors his tone. “You have a gown to wrap up, and I have a roomful of donors to disappoint with my dancing.”
A laugh slips out of me. “So youaregoing to dance with me.”
“Maybe. Either way, I’ll be your bodyguard. I want you to be able to relax and have a good time.”
“That’s very sweet of you.”