Royally Matched(43)

“And you think I would do that to you?”

“I know you would.”

“Because I’m a Willoughby?”

Her chin jerks in a nod.

“Because I’m thoughtless and selfish and just don’t measure up. And because you’re waiting for someone better to come along.”

Sarah shakes her head. “This isn’t coming out right.”

There’s a different kind of pain when you’re injured by someone you truly care about. It runs deeper, hurts longer, like a burn—it starts off stinging and smarting, then it blisters and spreads inside you, eating away at tender flesh.

Leaving in its wake a gaping hole.

I cross my arms and smirk, like I don’t give a flying fuck about anything.

“How’s the view from that ivory tower, Sarah? Must be lovely judging everyone beneath you, while keeping yourself too high to touch.”

She rises to her knees on the bed. “It’s not like that. I care about you, it’s just—”

“I’m selfish and irresponsible and inappropriate—I heard you the first time. You could’ve saved yourself all those syllables and just called me a dick.”

“Henry . . .”

“I think you’re a coward. See what I did there? Simple, concise.”

Her eyes snap up to me. She blinks and glances away.

“I’m not a coward. I just . . . like my life how it is. I like . . .”

I wander over to the “nook” and grab the first book I see. “You don’t have a life. You hide in this room and you cower behind these books. It’s fucking sad.”

Sarah’s voice is gentle, but staunch. “I realize I’ve hurt your feelings, but there’s no need to be cruel.”

I laugh. “You think you’ve hurt my feelings?”

“If this temper tantrum is any indication, I’m sure of it.”

“This isn’t a temper tantrum—this is a wake-up call.” I wave the book at her. “These aren’t your friends, Sarah—there’s no sodding Colonel Brandon popping off the page coming to love you.”

“I know that!” And then her eyes follow the book in my hand. “Henry, be careful—it’s fragile.”

And that just pisses me off more. Her concern for this inanimate, stupid thing.

“Do you even see me? Christ, I’m standing right here—real and, unlike you, actually living.” I wave my arms around, swinging the book by its back cover. “And you’re more concerned with fucking paper and ink!”

And that’s all she wrote.

With a crack, the spine of the book snaps in half, and loose pages fly off, fluttering all over the room, then falling to the floor like a flock of wounded white birds.

“No!”

The absolute heartbreak in Sarah’s voice cuts through my own, vanquishing my anger and leaving behind a residue of regret.

She falls to her knees, gathering the pages and snatching the broken book from my hand.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” I say quietly, in case she didn’t know.

Her dark hair falls over her shoulders, hiding her face.

“Sarah, did you hear me? I’m sorry.”

Why does it feel like that’s all I end up saying lately?

Her shoulders shudder; I think she’s crying. And my stomach feels as if it’s full of worms—wiggling and squirming disgustingly.

“I’ll give you the money to replace it. It’s a book. I mean . . . there’s more than one.” I stumble on like an utter fucking prat.

“Was it very valuable?”

When she still doesn’t respond, I put my hand on her back. She jerks up, wrenching away from me. Her eyes are wet and furious and wounded.

“Get out,” she hisses.

“What?”

“Get. Out!” she shouts, louder this time, gathering the last of the pages in her arms and placing them gently on the bed.

I nudge the floor with the tip of my foot, murmuring, “It’s my castle.”

And that pushes her over the edge.

She shoves me, harder than I expect. Her cheeks are high with color, her hair mussed, and her eyes wild. I’d be as hard as a steel rod right now, if I weren’t so concerned that I’d truly hurt her.

“Sarah, come on . . .”

When I don’t move fast enough, she shoves my chest again.

“Get out of my room, you mean, childish son of a bitch!”

I’m about to reply with some flippant comment, but before I can, her breath catches, breaking on a hiccup, and I realize with horror that she’s trying very hard not to burst into tears.

I reach out. “I’m—”

Sarah throws her hand up, looking away and closing her eyes.

“Just go, Henry. Please.”