Confetti Hearts (Confetti Hitched, #1)(30)

“I really am sorry,” he says earnestly. “I’d looked forward to this weekend.”

“You had?” I can’t hide my astonishment. I could’ve sworn he’d forgotten all about it.

“Yes, of course.”

“Why? You don’t usually.”

“What are you talking about?” He comes closer and grabs my hand. “Look, Joe, I—”

I pull away, and his eyes widen in surprise. My chest tightens, and I exhale a sharp breath. Suddenly, I’m angry. I’m angry that he doesn’t love me. Oh, he likes me well enough, and he’s always been kind to me, but he doesn’t love me, and that knowledge burns, twisting my heart in a way I’ve never felt.

“I must have had sunbeams for a brain when I did this.” I set my jaw, surprised that the words came out of my mouth.

“What the hell are you talking about now?”

It’s the now that gets me. As if I talk nonsense on the regular.

“I’m talking about the fact that I rank very fucking low on your list of life priorities, Lachlan. I’m talking about the fact that I have no place in your world, and this, right here, is a shining example.” I gesture at the suits and ties on the bed. “You’re prepared to drop everything to fulfil your obligations at work, but you can’t do the same for me. We had plans.”

And I’d looked forward to them so much, but I can’t say that. Not when he’s staring at me as if I’ve grown horns and a tail. “What?” I snap.

“No, you don’t understand, Joe. I—” He drops the shirt and scrubs his hand through his hair, looking suddenly lost. It’s not an expression I’ve ever seen on my assured husband’s face.

“What don’t I understand?”

“I do want that more than you know, but I can’t—”

His words break off as Elliott shouts up the stairs. “Lachlan, the car is ready. We have to stop at the office before the airport.”

“Okay,” he shouts before turning back to me.

“Can’t what?” I say impatiently, my heart thundering.

But, once more, his expression has shuttered, any emotion now packed neatly away like the clothes in his suitcase.

“I have to go. I’ll see you when I get back.”

“Will you?”

He gapes at me. “What?”

I shrug. I have no idea where this calmness has come from, but I’m glad it’s here. “I think we both know this is going nowhere.”

“What are you saying?” His voice is hoarse and his eyes suddenly dark.

“I’m saying I might not be here when you come back,” I say coldly.

“What the fuck?” he breathes. He comes towards me and grabs my hands. I wonder if he can feel my pulse thundering. “Please don’t say that,” he says urgently. “Don’t—” He comes to a faltering stop, and I will him to give in. To show me something. He opens his mouth and then fucking Elliott shouts his name again.

“And I said okay,” Lachlan bellows, his face as fiery as his tone.

I stare astonished at him, even as Elliott’s affronted silence drifts up the stairs.

He turns back to me. “Don’t say that. Please be here when I get back,” he urges.

“What’s the point, Lachlan? I don’t belong here in this house.”

“What’s wrong with my house?” he says, suddenly offended.

“It’s cold,” I snap. “And it’s more sterile than an operating theatre. You’re never here. It’s like an expensive prison with Mrs Ward in a starring role as a prison guard—which, let’s face it, is a position far more suited to her temperament.”

His eyes flare with temper and I know I’ve said too much. I let my temper get the better of me. He’d been trying to explain himself, but I hadn’t given him the space to let it free. Regret floods me, but before I can express my feelings, his face goes rigid.

“I see that I haven’t done anything right since we got married. And I’m very disappointed that you’re being so spiteful about Mrs Ward. She’s been nothing but kind to you.”

I huff out a laugh. “You need to get yourself some glasses.”

He glares at me. “I haven’t got time to deal with this,” he says coldly. “I’ll see you when I get back.” He shrugs. “Or maybe not. You make up your own mind, Joe.”

He grabs his case and wheels it to the door as I wonder idly whether steam is coming out of my ears.

“I won’t be here,” I shout. “But seeing as I have no place here, you’ll hardly miss me.”

But he’s gone and it doesn’t take the slam of the front door to tell me he’s left the house. It just got a lot colder.

“Shit,” I say. “Shit shit shit.”

I throw myself on the bed and bury my head in my pillow. I shouldn’t have done that. I hate losing my temper, because I invariably say things I regret. Lachlan isn’t a person who reacts well to ultimatums and threats. They make him close down and I’ve just done all of that and sounded like a shrew in the process.

“Shit.” I roll to my back and something crinkles beneath me. Lifting the pillow, I see a passport. Lachlan’s passport. It must have been on the bed by his suitcase, and he missed it in his rush to get away from me. Not that I could blame him. I sigh. I need to apologise because I know I wasn’t fair.