9. Reid #2
Her lips parted, a retort on her tongue, but she bit it back. I almost smiled. I leaned against the table, arms folded, studying her. “You used to know when I was lying. You’d feel it before I finished the sentence.”
“I still can,” she murmured, her eyes flickering slightly as she reminisced.
“Eugene has a hell of a tell when he lies,” I added.
She narrowed her eyes. “My son doesn’t lie.”
“Every kid lies, Vieve.” I shrugged. “But he’s good at it. Could lie through his teeth if he wanted.”
“You’ve spent, what, maybe five hours total with him?” Her voice sharpened. “How would you even know—”
“His eyes,” I said simply. “Some kids won’t look at you when they lie. Others stare too much. Eugene? He blinks. Twice like he’s trying to take the lie back and undo it.”
She stilled. Just for a second as her breath hitched. It wasn’t obvious, but I caught it. The way her chest rose high and fast even as her hands stayed perfectly in her lap so she could will them to stay still.
“So you’re watching my son now? Analyzing him?” she asked, voice cooler than before—but her pulse rising, the panic growing in her voice had already betrayed her. I knew my words were going to get to her, but I wanted to see her rile and worked up.
Instead of that reaction, however, she had that same look in her eyes when she saw me with him, when he ran to me. A look of fear… Something was wrong.
“I’m observing,” I said, slow. “His mannerisms. The way he talks… the way he acts.” My eyes dragged over her face. “It’s familiar.”
“My son is kind. He’s sweet, he’s innocent. He’s not you.” She shifted slightly in her seat, crossed one leg over the other with deliberate calm, performing composure. “Whatever you think, whatever story you’ve already written in your head—”
“What could I be possibly think, Vieve?” I asked, cutting her off.
She didn’t verbalize what she had been thinking, what she was afraid of. She simply glared at me with all the fury she could muster up.
“Leave him out of it.”
“You say that like I ever had a choice. You think I came back to pick apart your perfect little life? That I’m here just to cause damage?”
“That’s all you’ve wanted since you stepped back into our lives.”
I stared at her silently, letting the tension in the air thicken between us before I pushed to my feet, towering over her.
My hands found the arms of the chair as I leaned in, forcing her back against the seat.
Her soft panicked breaths fanned against my face, her scent invading my lungs, making me rethink every decision I’d made until this point.
“Our?“ I repeated, watching her delicate throat gulp.
“Reid,” she warned, but it came out softer than she meant. Not quite a protest or a surrender.
“I was a part of their lives, Genevieve… More than anything, I was a part of yours.”
She tried to shift back, but the chair wouldn’t give.
“I know you, mon amour.” The French slipped out low, rough at the edges. I hadn’t meant to say it.
Her eyes darted away, pretending not to hear, pretending that the language of us still wasn’t buried somewhere under her skin. It fucking pissed me off that she could still lie even about that.
“Don’t,” she whispered, swallowing, voice barely holding steady. “Don’t do that.”
A slow exhale left me, brushing her cheek. “And you know me… What could I possibly be thinking about your son, Vieve?”
She didn’t speak. Her chest rose faster, the curve of it trying to distract me, the softness of her skin testing my patience.
“Why…” I leaned in closer, my mouth at her ear, my voice a rasp, “…are you trying so hard to protect him from me?”
She tensed under me, her legs tightening, the closeness of our bodies overwhelming her.
Every inch of her remembered me. Even if she wouldn’t admit it or fucking say it.
Then her eyes met mine, stubbornness, need and a faint look of exhaustion in her gaze. “Because… I don’t know you. Not anymore.”
My hand gripped the arm of the chair tighter. I could’ve grabbed her again. Could’ve forced her to look at me, breathe me in, remember who the fuck she used to belong to.
But instead, I stepped back.
And she fled like her skin was on fire, as if the air between us had burned her. Her eyes flashed once, fury and fear tangled together, and she turned toward the door.
I didn’t stop her from running this time as I watched her hand shake as she reached for the handle and pulled it shut behind her. I stood there, breathing hard, my own hands still shaking.
The scent of her clung to me, to the room, filling it with vanilla, lavender and guilt. I wanted to rip the truth out of her throat. She was hiding something. Hiding the truth from everyone… from me. I’d seen it in the way her eyes moved, in the tremor under her skin.
I didn’t want to speculate. I’d done that before, built the impossible in my mind, told myself the reality of the situation wasn’t true.
But the thoughts, the lies, weren’t just in my head this time around… they were in her gaze. Her mouth could spew all the lies in the world, but her eyes couldn’t hide the truth. All the smiles she forced, the guilt she wore like armor…
Whatever she was protecting, whatever she thought she could keep from me… I’d tear every inch of her perfect little world apart until I found it.