Page 43 of Capricorn
“Don’t apologize.” He helps me into a sitting position then drapes the coat over my shoulders. The lining is warm from his body, his heat grounding me in a way I didn’t realize I needed.
“I didn’t mean to disrupt the service.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Oliver winds his arms around my shivering form and tucks me against his chest.
As we leave the gazebo, my gaze snags on Liam’s distraught face.
Guilt tugs at me.
I’ve done it again—blindly run into the cold. He saved me once, and I’ve just put him through it a second time.
Only now, he has no choice but to let someone else act as savior.
Oliver leads the way back to the estate, carrying me through the snow in silence. The storm has thickened, flakes whipping sideways in harsh gusts. Disorientation gnaws at me, nausea curling with every shiver.
We enter the tower, and I press closer to his warmth as the seven of us crowd into the elevator.
Overhead lights cast a golden hue across the polished walls, catching fractured reflections of the men in their dark suits, their faces drawn tight with the weight of the day.
When the car stops at the House of Capricorn, Oliver steps out without a word, cradling me like I’m breakable.
Liam moves to follow, but Oliver shakes his head.
“I’ve got her.”
The chancellor halts, his jaw ticking once in protest, though he isn’t about to argue.
Not while I’m under Oliver’s control.
And something about that pokes beneath the pain, prodding my anger.
Why do they get to decide?
Why does any man get to say I’ve got her?
“Put me down,” I demand, struggling against Oliver’s chest.
He lowers me to my feet as Astrid exits the elevator. The tension between him and Liam holds until the doors slide shut between them. Motors whir in a hush of motion that carries the car to higher floors, leaving the three of us alone.
Oliver unlocks the front door, and I pull his jacket tighter around me as I step into the sitting room. He dismisses Astrid and trails after me, snowmelt dripping from his hair onto his drab black suit.
I’m soaked too, my teeth chattering as I sink into the sofa closest to the fireplace and lean into the cushions, too emotionally drained to do anything else.
Flames crackle, but the warmth doesn’t reach me.
“It’s time for another therapy session with Sully,” he says, pacing in front of me, his gait unhurried. “I’ll have something arranged.”
“Do what you must. I don’t care anymore.”
He frowns. “That’s a problem, then.”
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he lets the silence stretch long enough to aggravate me.
I cross my arms. “What’s a problem?”
“You, not caring. That won’t make for a happy marriage.”
I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “I thought you didn’t want to marry me.”
