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I begin to reach across her towards the seatbelt her hand darts out, stopping me inches from her body. “Touch me again and I will break your fucking wrist.”

The ecstasy reels through me and I chuckle, making her slowly look my way, where her eyebrows are pointed down and lips pressed into a thin line.

“What are you laughing at?”

Her voice echoes too long in my head as everything starts bleeding into each other. Admittedly, I probably shouldn’t have smoked another joint that quickly. These drugs are dragging me deeper into that pit at the bottom of the ocean where I can’t feel or do anything but float. And maybe that’s a good thing. It’ll be easier to deal with… this. I didn’t know what else to do to cope with these chaotic feelings running rampant inside once she disappeared into the church.

I punch the start button. Is it safe to drive? Probably not. However, there was no chance in hell I was letting her leave with those two fucking conspirators or let her out of my sight when I’d only just got her back.

No one is taking her away from me again. No one is getting their hands on her. Over my dead fucking body.

Geometrical shapes begin to prickle their way into my vision as I steer the car out of the churchyard. This isn’t my first time driving high, but I’ve never been this high. If we die, at least we’re dying together and it would be easier to find her in whatever afterlife we’ve been taught to believe.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Another chuckle drags out of me without meaning to. “What isn’t wrong with me?”

Jordie has no idea how faded I am and that there’s drugs coursing through my system. I don’t even think she knows what drugs are. I didn’t. But it’s best if it remains that way. I don’t want her knowing where I get them from either. That thought makes my stomach stir.

She twists fully with a resigned noise, head resting against the blacked-out windows and her body rigid, not fully trusting me to be relaxed around me.

The lump in my throat lodges when I look at her as I pull up to the castle gate. I want to get on my knees and beg for forgiveness for something I never did. Beg her to hear me out. But I don’t have any evidence. None. She might hate me for the rest of her life, and rightfully so until I can prove to her otherwise.

But she’s talking to me. I’ll take it. I’ll take whatever she gives me—whatever I can get.

Jordie shifts for the first time, her fingers crawling to the hem of her shorts and scrunching it between her fingers.

“Jordie…” I start.

“Don’t. Just because we’re living together now, does not give you the permission to talk to me.” She finally turns to look at me. Those bright blue eyes wide and full of hate. “You ruined my fucking life. You made sure they sent me away. It was always in your plans. ‘We can set pictures up. Have them sent anonymously so they find out that way’.” She quotes me, and my fingers tighten on the leather wheel. “I told you no. I said I would never risk our lives. But you still did it anyway. So, do me a favour, and keep as far away from me as possible.” There’s no hesitation in her statements; they just tumble out with no warning. She makes quick work of gripping the handle, pushing open the door, before slamming it behind her—hard—and jogging inside the castle like she can’t get away from me quick enough. As if being in there is better than out here with me.

Smacking my hand into the steering wheel, I curse.

I don’t know what I imagined our reunion to be like, but it definitely wasn’t this. I think I’ve been living with a delusion that she might hear me out, and we haven’t wasted all those years to end up right here, with her hating me, and me not knowing how to stop it.

Watching as the darkness of the castle swallows her, I light another joint. Everything in me calls to run after her, but it’s a war against giving her the space she craves. My next decision doesn’t take me long to make, though.

Too bad because space is something she won’t be getting from me.

My mind is made up too quickly for my hands to take action in opening the car door, because every movement feels like a drag. Not what I want right now. Fucking drugs.

I flick my joint to the ground before charging up the stone steps. Taking a left in the foyer, I make my way to the banquet hall, my steps heavy on the black and white chequered flooring. Pulling out a small cologne bottle from my jacket pocket, I spray it over myself to mask the smell.

No one but Heath and Dorrian’s displeased expressions pay me any attention as I swagger through the carved doorway into the candlelit room. Everyone is too engrossed in Jordie’s return, doting on her like she left of her own accord, acting like they don’t see the checked-out expression on her face.

Spotting an empty chair in the corner of the busy room of burgundy shirts, I slump into it with a sigh. Jordie’s eyes connect with mine, almost as if on instinct, like she knew I came. Satisfaction rings through me; it’s the most natural thing for us.

Her perfect, round face wears a deep scowl, eyeliner crinkled in the corners as she stands with Michaels and Vivian—all prim and proper. All she’s missing is a tailored dress. This obedient act she’s been putting on isn’t lost on me. This is a different version of her. That fight she put up with me told me everything I needed to know. Her body didn’t retreat when she faced Heath and Vivian, she stood tall and confident. The scared Jordie I used to know has departed.

Wherever they sent her—whatever they did to her… it changed her.

Father Michaels speaks while Vivian nods along. I see the way Jordie’s spine steels, how her hands tighten on the champagne glass as she listens before ripping her gaze away from mine. But then Michaels hand connects with Jordie’s back and glides it further down. My fists clench and I’m seconds away from jumping out of my seat and—

“Where have you been?” Dorrian’s demand has me sitting up straighter, heat flooding in my chest. His gaze burns into me, eyes bouncing between mine. They’re bloodshot and adorned with dark marks like they usually are from his lack of sleep, because I doubt Heath’s lapdog would be smoking the ‘Devil’s Lettuce’. He doesn’t need to say anything, but I can see the disapproval on his face. I’m not interested in hearing what he has to say about my habits or trying to pry information out of me on where I get it from. He’d give me a long lecture on how sinful smoking it is—the same speech I hear every time. How he hopes I don’t spiral and lose touch with God. He’s so much like Heath. The years that Jordie’s been gone only worsened him, and in turn, made me hate him even more, if that was possible.

Jordie calmly slides away from Michaels, but I see the angry flush already rising to her chest.

“Is it any of your concern?” I lean my cheek on my fist, eyes still on my love. She stands with her shoulders pushed back but her fingers grapple with the material of her skirt and her eyes flick towards me every so often.