Unveiled(133)

Through his spaced-out state, he manages to cling on to me, and we remain locked together on the floor forever, him mumbling confused words, me humming softly in his ear.

“I’ll never stop loving you, Miller Hart,” I whisper, kissing his ear gently and breathing him into me. “It’s over.”

I know he hasn’t the capability to utter any words in his current state, but he speaks to me perfectly clearly when he drags his arm from around my back and takes his hand to my tummy. Then he starts circling softly with his heavy palm until I’m certain our baby replies to his touch. A pop of bubbles flutter in my stomach.

“My baby,” he whispers.


* * *


I’m disturbed from my contentment by my mother’s hand on my shoulder. The heat spreads across my skin and travels directly into my heart, forcing me to break away from Miller, confused, because I know the source of the comfort isn’t him. It’s an added ease, and when I peel my lids open, my eyes find Gracie kneeling before us, mildly smiling. “Are you ready to take him home, baby?” she asks, stroking my arm comfortingly.

I nod, hating having to disturb Miller in my arms but eager to take him away from here. “Miller?” I whisper, gently nudging him, but he doesn’t respond, leaving me looking up to Gracie for help.

My attention is pulled to the door when William strides in. I can’t retain my shock. My eyes widen as they take in his disheveled state—his gray hair mussed up, his suit all creased. He’s flexing his hand, and his anger’s still so very apparent. There’s only a slight blemish to his jaw, but I get the feeling Charlie isn’t in such great shape.

“We need to get out of here,” he mutters, assessing what he’s walked in on.

“Miller can’t walk.” My throat is almost too tight with grief to speak.

With calm, efficient movements, William strides across the room and hauls Miller into his arms, nodding to Gracie in a silent gesture to help me up, which she does quickly, sensing his silent urgency, despite his calmness.

“I’m good.” Miller’s scratchy voice breaks through my worry, and I snap my head up to see him wrestling his way out of William’s hold. “For fuck’s sake, let go of me.”

Relief makes me dizzy as I watch him find his feet and then swipe at his hair repeatedly in an attempt to restore his messier than usual waves back to just messy. He pulls the towel in and glances up, hitting me with eyes that are way wider than normal, the black of his pupils nearly canceling out the blue. They are still very piercing, despite the dilation. I keep still under his intense stare, letting him take me in for a while, refresh his memory of me, until he nods lazily, then follows it up with a drawn-out blink of his eyes.

“What’s going on?”

He’ll hate this. He’s the center of attention, half-naked and vulnerable.

“You were drugged. We can explain more later,” William tells him, not so calmly now. “We need to get out of here.”

It doesn’t feel like there’s much air in this posh suite, but after William’s statement, there’s none. Miller’s already wide eyes have just expanded, almost popping from his head. He doesn’t speak, just stands quietly absorbing the news, his jaw ticking violently. I think myself sadistic for wanting to desperately know what’s running through his mind. “Where’s Charlie?” His deadly tone tells me it’s murder.

William steps forward, holding Miller’s glazed eyes with harsh gray. “It’s over, Miller. Walk away a free man, no blood on your hands, no guilt on your conscience.”

“There would be no guilt,” he seethes. “None.”

“For Olivia.”

He scowls at William, his lip curling. “Or because he’s your brother.”

“No, because we are better men.”

I see William’s head cock to the side, and Miller looks at him thoughtfully for a few moments, clearly reading a look. “Where are my clothes?” he spits, glancing around the room and striding over to the bed when he spots them. “Some privacy, please.”

“Hart, we haven’t got time for you to start getting all fucking particular.”

“Two minutes!” he yells, yanking his shirt over his shoulders.

I wince and watch as William practically bites his tongue to stop himself retaliating. “You have one.” He grabs Gracie’s arm and guides her from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Then I watch as the Miller Hart I know rapidly comes together with each piece of expensive clothing he pulls on. He yanks at his sleeves, straightens his tie, and fiddles with his collar, but it’s all done far faster than I’ve ever seen before, and though he’s restored, he’s not fully restored. The vacant look in his eyes is still lingering, and I suspect it will be for a while.