Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
How could he?
How could Brendan be so cruel…and then smile at him that way, tell him he was amazing?
Because that’s who he is. You only ever mattered to him as an actor.
He knew that wasn’t true. He knew it, it was all just crossed signals and crossed wires and the wrong timing and the worst words, and if he could just stand to talk to Brendan maybe they could untangle it all, but…
What was the point?
What was the point, when he didn’t have a choice in this anyway?
He ran until his chest hurt; ran until he couldn’t stand to move his legs another stride as he hit the slate tiles of the castle courtyard, the change in ground beneath his feet jarring up through his leg bones. Panting, he stopped, bending over his knees, screwing his eyes shut against the burn whipped against him by stinging, icy wind.
Fuck.
Why had he set himself up for this fucking fall? Why?
Rubbing at his chest, he forced himself upright and at least took himself inside, slipping through the main entryway before rounding the corner of the primary hall, slumping against the wall and sliding down to sit against the floor with his head thudded back against the building stones. He just…didn’t feel like moving right now. That last scene had wrung him out, left him an emotional wreck, still shivering with the ringing echoes of Richard’s feelings—the desperate fight to save Landon when their duel had only been a matter of honor, no one was meant to die, and then that horrible realization that Landon wanted to let go…
No.
That hit too fucking close to home.
And Cillian stayed there, rubbing at his throat, gulping in calming breaths, until he felt like he could go out there and face cast and crew alike for all those little emotional moments of conversation and recollection and rediscovery that would lead the way to goodbye, as eventually the entire production crew flew back to the States.
Without him.
Fuck, that shouldn’t hurt so much.
He’d get used to it. Grow up. Be a stable fucking adult, and one day when he’d spent decades signing off on changes to parking zoning and leading a nice, safe, boring life he’d look back on all this and think how ridiculous he’d been, chasing daydreams that were never meant to be real.
He tensed at the sound of a footstep scuffing around the corner. If Maxwell had come to check on him again, aka hound him and tell him to get over it and remind him what a good thing it was he’d fucked up his own head and heart sooner rather than later, he’d probably end up losing his temper. He stood, dusting himself off, already searching for a good excuse.
When Oliver Newcomb came oozing around the corner, a confident smirk on his lips.
Cillian froze. Fuck. Fuck, the last thing he needed was to be alone with Newcomb right now.
But even with all these open, cavernous hallways…
There was nowhere to run.
“Cillian Tell,” Newcomb leered, sauntering closer to him. “You ran off a little quickly. Didn’t want to stay and celebrate wrapping?”
“I’m fine celebrating on my own.” Cillian edged back warily. He either needed to get out of this empty hallway and into a more populated area of the castle, or hope one of the minimal complement of cleaning staff happened to walk through right now. “What do you want?”
“Just to satisfy my curiosity.” Newcomb actually stopped a decent distance away…but there was something unwholesome in his smile. “You see…I found it quite interesting how willing you were to offer up this location. How terrified you were that I’d punish you for any gossip by releasing that little photo. Not nearly so cocky as you used to be.” His smile widened into a sticky-hateful sickle as he cocked his head. “And I realized…you’ve lost your protector, haven’t you. What happened?” he mocked. “Did he get tired of you already?”
That struck too close to home.
An iron poker thrust between his ribs.
“None of your business,” Cillian ground out.
“Except it is, because you see…I know just how vulnerable you are right now.” Newcomb took a few strolling steps closer. “And if you need a new protector…you and I could help each other out. I don’t have to be cruel, Cillian. I don’t have to be someone you fear.”
Cillian’s gorge rose. He retreated a wary step, apprehension crawling sick fingers up his spine. “Don’t you ever fucking try to touch me again.”
“I would rethink your little dramatic proclamations.” Newcomb folded his arms over his chest. “I still have that photo, Cillian. It would be a shame if it leaked. What do you think your little scandal would do to your family? Such delicate little royals cloistered away up here…and all of a sudden the entire world is looking at them because their darling baby boy is a filthy little pervert.”