Jonathan stared up at her, and his eyes were so wounded that she ached inside. "Violet."
"You need to stop this. Seriously."
His mouth drew slowly into a lazy smile. "Why?"
"Well, first of all, you're starting to smell like a bar. And second of all, this isn't healthy."
"Does it matter?"
"Please," she cajoled, changing her tone. Maybe if she tried a different tactic, she could get through to him. "You're scaring me, Jonathan."
"What's it matter? You hate me, Violet." The look in his eyes was stark. "You've made that clear."
She felt a twinge of pity. "That doesn't mean I want to watch you drink yourself to death. Now, please. Come up to bed."
For a moment, his eyes lit up and he stood up from the table, his tall body weaving. "Your bed?"
"No!"
He sat back down again.
Violet gave him an exasperated look. "Really, Jonathan?"
He ignored her and began to pour another drink.
She reached over and grabbed the bottle out of his hand, and he glared at her. "You need to stop. This isn't like you."
Jonathan shook his head slowly, his messy hair sliding over his forehead. "How would you know, Violet? You haven't seen me in ten years. Maybe I decided to drink after you left me."
She carefully pried the glass out of his fingers. "You said it dulls the senses, and you don't like yours dulled. I remember that."
He shook his head, not looking at her. "I don't want to remember anything right now."
Another twinge of pity. Damn it. "Jonathan, just come on. Let's get you back to your room and get you into your bed, all right?"
He simply put his head down on the table and morosely stared at one of the bottles.
"Do you need help, ma'am?" One of the waitstaff came over. "I can help you take him up to his room, if you like."
"No, we're fine," she said with a small smile of appreciation. "Has he been like this the whole time?"
The man nodded. "When he's not crying."
"Crying?" Violet was horrified. She'd never seen Jonathan cry. She couldn't even imagine it. Even when they'd fought, he'd just stared at her with those grim, smoldering eyes.
"Yeah. We figured someone died. Keeps saying he lost her." The man shrugged. "You going to pay his bill? It's a big one."
Her heart twinged again. Someone had died. But Jonathan hadn't cared about the baby . . . had he? She shook the thought off. "No, I'm going to get him out of here. He can pay his own bill. The girl at the front desk can add it to his room." She pulled money out of her pocket and offered it to him as a tip. "Thank you for your help, though."
The man nodded and took the twenty. "Let me know if you need anything else."
He left as she knelt down next to Jonathan's table. She studied him for a long moment, thinking about the man's words. Crying as if he'd lost someone. Lost her. She reached out and stroked his arm with her hand, and her voice was softer this time. "Jonathan. Come on. Let's get you up to your room, all right?"
Jonathan turned to her, propping his head up on his arm as he gazed in her direction. "You know I loved you, Violet?" His voice was soft.
"I know. But that was a long time ago."
He shook his head, just a little. "Never changed for me," he said, his words slurred thickly. "Never stopped. Too late now, though."
Keeps saying he lost her.
Now she wanted to cry. She couldn't bury ten years of festering hatred in a night, but she could pity a man who was clearly miserable. "If you love me, won't you come up to your room?"
"Doesn't matter if I love you or not," he murmured. "Lost you anyhow."
Violet thought for a moment. "If you go up to your room and get to bed, I'll kiss you."
Slowly, he sat up, and she felt the urge to laugh. So she'd found the carrot that would entice the donkey, had she? "But you hate me, Violet."
"I hate you being drunk here more. The offer stands." She got to her feet and extended him a hand. "You go up to your room and I'll kiss you. If you don't, you can just stay here with your bottles."
Jonathan got up from the table so quickly he nearly knocked it over, the glassware rattling noisily. He wove unsteadily on his feet, but his intense gaze was back on her. "Come kiss me, then."
"Uh uh," she told him. "Up to your room, first." When he started to slouch again, she put an arm around his waist and got a good whiff of his breath. "Up to your room, and after you have some mouthwash, that is."
That got a drunk chuckle from him, and he wrapped his arms around her, dragging her against his front. He inhaled deeply, burying his nose in her hair. "Forgot how good you smell." His words were almost a moan of pure joy, and it sent a shock wave through her body.