Chapter 12: Three Times

Lucian did not speak all the way home.

He walked into his study, put the tag from Draw 156 on the desk, and stood looking at it.

I stood in the doorway.

I felt everything he did not say, and there was so much of it that I could hardly stand.

"She crossed her sevens," he said at last. "When she was little, she crossed them to make them look different from ones."

"I know."

"Three years, Margo."

"I know."

"I should have been there."

"You were looking."

"It's not enough."

He turned around.

His eyes were red and his hands were shaking.

He looked at me and did not look away.

I should have gone to him.

Instead, a hard little thing I had been carrying since the car came up in my throat, and I said it.

"You watched me."

He went still.

"In the lounge," I said. "Forty people and three phones, and I stood there smiling because I thought a friend was holding my hand."

"Margo."

"You had every camera. You could have called me, or texted me, or sent one message that said don't."

"Yes."

"You made me the bait."

"Yes."

"I thought I was walking up forty floors on my own choice."

"You were," he said. "Every step. I never took one for you."

"That isn't the same."

"No."

He crossed the room slowly, and stopped one pace from me.

"I would do the key again," he said. "I'd pay the man twice, because it got you out of that house."

He did not look away.

"But I would not do the watching. I would be in the lounge, behind you. I'd have broken Tristan's wrist when he took yours."

I looked up at him.

"That's what I wanted to hear," I said, and my voice broke on it.

"I know."

"I'm still angry."

"You should be."

"I'm angry and I want you, and I hate that I want you right now."

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