‘Olivia,’ William sighs, ‘you really are trying my patience.’
I brace myself for another comment on my mother, worrying about the anger simmering within me just at the thought of William making reference to her. If he comes out and says what I know he’s thinking, then I might be giving Miller a run for his money in the crazy department. ‘You are trying mine!’
William disguises his recoil well, and I know it’s because he doesn’t want to show a scrap of compassion in front of Miller. No, now he’ll uphold that powerful reputation . . . which means it could get very ugly, very quickly. ‘I’ve told you, you don’t belong here with him.’
My breath catches slightly, remembering William saying a version of those words to me when I was seventeen. I was sitting in his office, drunk. I didn’t belong with William. I don’t belong with Miller. ‘Where do I belong?’ I ask, making William eye me cautiously. ‘It seems you don’t think I belong anywhere. So tell me, where the f**king hell do I belong?’
‘Oliv—’ Miller pipes up, stepping forward, but I cut him straight off, not liking the potential of him agreeing with William.
‘No!’ I yell. ‘Everyone thinks they know what’s best for me. What about me? What about what I know?’
‘Calm down.’ Miller’s by my side, unsteady, trying to soothe me by taking my nape and kneading gently. It won’t work. Not now.
‘I know I’m supposed to be here!’ I yell, making myself shake with my building frustration. ‘I’ve been stumbling through my life since you sent me away.’ I point an accusing finger in William’s direction. It makes him withdraw slightly. ‘Now I have him.’ I throw my arm around Miller’s waist and plant myself to his side. ‘The only way you’ll stop me from being with him is if you put me six feet under!’
William’s speechless, Miller is stiff beside me, and I’m convulsing with anger, searching deep for the focus I need to take some steadying breaths and calm down. I gulp back air. I feel like I’m having a panic attack.
‘Shhh.’ Miller pulls me in closer and drops a kiss on the top of my head. It’s not a full-on thing, but it’s working to a degree. I turn into him and hide, and his lips meet the top of my head, pecking and humming as I clench my eyes shut.
It’s a long, long time before someone speaks. ‘How do you feel about her?’ William asks, reluctance and caution rife in his tone.
I stay where I am, dreading what Miller might say. Fascination just won’t cut it. I can feel his heart pounding, can almost hear it, too.
‘She’s the blood in my veins.’ He speaks clearly and softly. ‘She’s the air in my lungs.’ There’s a slight pause, and I’m sure I hear William inhale a shocked breath. ‘She’s the bright, hopeful light in my tortured darkness. I’m warning you, Anderson. Don’t try to take her away from me.’
I blink back my tears and burrow deeper into his chest, grateful he’s backed me up. That silence falls again. It’s eerily quiet, and then I hear breath being drawn and I know whose it is. ‘I couldn’t care less what happens to you,’ William says. ‘But the second I get a whiff that Olivia is in danger, I’ll be coming for you, Hart.’
And with that, the door slams shut and we’re alone. Miller’s hold loosens on me, the vibrations of his body receding, and he releases me when I really want him to hold me tighter. He paces on unsteady legs to his drinks cabinet and clumsily restocks on whisky, knocking it back fast and gasping. I remain still and silent, then after what seems like centuries, he sighs. ‘Why are you still in my life, sweet girl?’
‘Because you fought to keep me in it,’ I remind him without hesitation, forcing myself to sound sure. ‘You’ve threatened to rip the spine out of anyone who tries to take me away from you. Are you regretting that?’
I steel myself for an unwanted reply as he faces me, but his gaze is dropped. ‘I regret dragging you into my world.’
‘Don’t,’ I snap, not liking his loss of fortitude now that William has gone. ‘I came willingly and I’m staying willingly.’ I choose to ignore the referral to my world. I’m getting sick of hearing the words my world, yet hardly anything about it.
More whisky is tipped down his neck. ‘I meant it.’ He makes an attempt to focus on my eyes but gives up, turning and wandering off across the lounge instead.
‘Meant what?’
‘My threat.’ His arse meets the low coffee table and he places his glass accurately to the side, despite his drunkenness. He even swivels it before releasing it, now happy with its placing. His curl is present and clearly tickling his forehead because he flicks it away and then drops his face into his palms, elbows braced on his knees. ‘My temper has always been a burden, Olivia, but I frighten myself when it comes to my overprotectiveness with you.’
‘Possessiveness.’