Damn him.
‘What do you want?’ she demanded, her tone as withering as she could make it. In the back of her mind, she wondered if he’d ever been spoken to like that. She couldn’t help it though. His quick change of heart and immediate dismissal of her once shehad performed her purpose had resonated so perfectly with the feelings she’d suffered on that awful day when the penny had finally dropped and she’d realised how utterly and completely Christopher had been using her. Octavio hadn’t done anything nearly as bad as Christopher, but Phoebe had a big, open wound that Octavio had unknowingly and deeply plunged a knife into.
‘Is there some place we can talk?’
She gestured to the small foyer as if to sayhere, only it wassmalland he wasbigand there was a sudden dearth of space that made it hard for Phoebe to think. With an angry expulsion of breath, she whirled away from him and practically stomped into the living room.
Small, but neat as a pin, it was light-filled and perfectly adequate for the six months or so Phoebe intended to stay in Castilona. After that, she expected her savings to have run out, and if she hadn’t managed to find her father in that time, she’d go home and work out how to get on with her life. At least she would have succeeded in putting some space and distance between herself and the disastrous breakup with Christopher.
‘Okay, talk,’ she said, then added with faux deference, ‘Your Majesty.’
She was used to seeing Octavio smile, but this time, when his lips shifted into a general approximation of that expression, there was no humour in his face. Rather, it was a look of cynicism, or even mockery.
‘You’re angry with me.’
She crossed her arms. ‘Do you blame me?’
‘Why are you angry?’ he prompted.
She stared at him as if he’d just asked what feet were used for. ‘I would imagine it’s pretty obvious.’
‘Humour me.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’d like to understand what I’m dealing with before I start.’
‘Start what?’
‘What I came here for.’
‘Are you being deliberately cryptic?’
‘I asked you first.’
‘What are you, eight?’
He didn’t answer. Those dark, mesmerising eyes of his just bore into her, and as the seconds ticked by, the force of his look and the caustic silence surrounding them eroded her strength. She lifted one shoulder in a gesture of conversational surrender. ‘You were rude.’
One thick, dark brow arched upwards.
‘I knew what you wanted from me, and why, but I still never expected you to make me feel so disposable. I thought you were…nice.’ It was a very insipid way to explain what she’d thought of him. She’dlikedhim. She’d thought he wasnice,yes, but also kind and funny and decent. In short, she’d been fooled, just like with Christopher. Would she never learn?
‘You are not disposable,’ he said, but the words were tinged with something like anger. ‘If you were, I would not be here now.’
‘Why are you here?’
‘To explain.’
‘There’s no point. It’s over. Ancient history. I don’t even think about it any more.’
Another quirk of his brow and this time, his quick half-smile was definitely, unmistakably mocking. ‘Don’t you?’
‘No.’ She doubled down on the slight exaggeration. She thought about it, him, what they’d done from time to time. As in, at least several times a day. Most days, even more often than that. ‘It’s old news.’
‘Prove it,’ he growled, taking a step towards her.
Her throat felt thick suddenly, her bones liquid. ‘How?’
