Unveiled(85)

Miller’s told him about my mum. Every defense mechanism loads, locks, and gets ready to fire at whoever decides to hit me with their thoughts first, but after a long, painful silence and neither man has spoken, I take the situation into my own hands.

And bury my head a little farther.

“She’s settled and George is with her.” I head for the sink and plunge my hands into the soapy water. “She seems quite bright, but she needs to stay in bed for a week or so.” I wash and place the few dirty mugs on the drainer and then swirl my hands around in the sink, vainly trying to locate something else to wash. “She’s going to be hard work.”

“Olivia?” Miller’s footsteps approach behind me. My eyes close, and I give up blindly grappling in the water for nothing. “I think you’re done.” He takes my hands from the sink and starts to dry them with a tea towel, but I shrug him off and grab a dishcloth.

“I should wipe the table down.” I slap the sopping material on the table, making Gregory shift back. I don’t miss the cautious look he tosses over my shoulder in Miller’s direction. “I need to keep the house spic-and-span.” My hand works furiously across the pristine wood, wiping up a mess that isn’t even there. “She’ll only moan or try to clean up herself.”

Strong hands wrap around my wrists and hold them still. “Enough.”

My eyes climb his bespoke suit, up his neck, and onto his shadowed jaw. Blue eyes are sinking into me. Sympathetic eyes. I don’t need sympathy. I need to be allowed to get on with things.

“I’m not ready,” I whisper, swallowing down the lump forming in my throat, my eyes begging him to let me be.

“And I don’t want to expose you to more pain.” He pries the cloth from my hand, folding it neatly, while I silently thank him and breathe in some composure. “I’m staying here tonight, so I’ll need to pop home and collect some things.”

“Okay,” I agree, busying myself by brushing down the front of my sundress.

“Yeah, I should be going,” Gregory pipes up, standing and putting his hand out to Miller, who accepts immediately, nodding sharply. It’s a silent message—something to reassure my best friend.

Their polite exchange at any other time would be so satisfying to see. Not now, though. Now it’s as though they’ve teamed up as a last resort… to deal with the fragile waif. I can’t help the wave of resentment I feel. This is just a show. They’re not being courteous because they know it’s what I would really love, for them both to be friendly and actually like each other. They’re acting like this for fear of tipping me over the edge.

Gregory approaches and pulls me into a hug that I struggle to return. I suddenly really do feel fragile. “I’ll call you tomorrow, baby girl.”

I nod and break out of his hold. “I’ll see you out.”

“Okay.” His reply is drawn out, and he moves to the kitchen door, raising his hand to Miller in good-bye.

I don’t see Miller’s response, or whether any more exchanges are passed because I’m halfway up the hallway.

“She’s a firecracker!” George laughs, and I look up to see him plodding down the stairs. “But exhausted. I’ve left her to have a kip.”

“Are you going, George?”

“Yes, but I’ll be back tomorrow at noon sharp. I have my orders.” He reaches the bottom of the stairs on a huff, his big chest pulsing from the exertion. “You look after her,” he says, giving my shoulder a little squeeze.

“I’ll take you home, George.” Gregory appears, waving his keys. “As long as you don’t mind sharing a seat with a few tools.”

“Ha! I shared space with far less desirable things during the war, lad.”

Gregory passes me on a strained smile and opens the door for George. “You can tell me all about it on the way home.”

“It’ll make your toes curl!”

They’re both off up the garden path, George rabbiting about his war days, Gregory laughing tightly every now and then in response. I close the door, shut the world outside, but soon realize that I can’t shut my mind down. I’m fooling myself. Being here, smelling our house, knowing Nan is safe upstairs and Miller is floating around in all of his perfection, isn’t working as I’d hoped. Nan’s shockingly accurate conclusion has only added to it.

The distant ring of my mobile makes me moan, and I make no rush to go in search of it. Anyone who I would like to talk to is either here or just this moment left. I pad back to the kitchen, finding no Miller. Locating my bag, I rummage through it until I find the source of the persistent sound. I hit Reject and notice six missed calls, all from William. I turn it off and toss it to the side, glowering at it.