The instant his warm palm touched my frozen arm, my body betrayed me with a shiver, some old reflex left over from years of needing him.
But the next second, a violent wave of nausea surged up from my stomach.
I wrenched his hand away and collapsed forward, retching against the dirt.
Giles's expression turned ugly.
He grabbed me roughly off the ground, shoved me into the car.
Neither of us spoke on the drive back.
At the villa, Lucinda was draped across the sofa looking delicate and pampered, a servant attending to her every need.
The moment she saw me, a smile of pure satisfaction spread across her face.
Giles pushed me in front of her and clamped both hands down on my shoulders.
"Kneel."
Cold. Not a voice—just ice shaped into a word.
I didn't fight it.
My knees struck the cold marble floor with a dull, heavy crack.
The wound across my abdomen split wider with every breath, blood soaking through the thin fabric of my pants in a spreading stain.
I kept my head bowed like a puppet with nothing left inside, repeating the same hollow apologies on loop.
"I'm sorry."
"I shouldn't have made you angry."
"I shouldn't have hurt you."