“Shit,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. He looks uncomfortable, angry—at himself, at me, at the situation. “Let’s just get on with it.”

But I can’t let this go. “Lucian—”

“Forget I said anything.” His voice is sharp, cutting. “You’re right to want safety. You’re right to choose someone who’ll protect you and give you a quiet life.” He looks at me with something that might be pity, and it cuts deeper than any blade. “I just don’t understand how someone like you can believe people so easily. How you can trust pretty words from a man who doesn’t even know the real you.”

The criticism stings more...