My hands work fast, soaping the sweat away and rinsing, before brushing my teeth. I go to the walk-in wardrobe, ignoring her static form still standing in the middle of the bedroom where I left her ten minutes ago. I stare at the rails of clothes, thinking. I can’t just leave with all this bad feeling hanging like a weight around my neck.

I back out and find her in the exact same spot, looking as apprehensive as I feel. “I need to go.” I swallow, stopping myself from demanding she come again. “Kate’s on her way over.”

“Why?”

“So you don’t leave.” I return to my rails and pull down some jeans, glancing up when she appears at the door.

Her apprehension looks like it’s converting into rage. “I’m going home,” she says, and my back teeth clench dangerously as I yank a T-shirt on and stuff my feet into some Converse. Don’t react to her goading. She passes me and starts yanking her clothes from the rails. It’s a move meant to provoke me, and if she’s not careful I might just react.

“What are you doing?” I ask calmly, removing her clothes from her arms. “You’re not leaving.”

“Yes, I am,” she yells, snatching them back childishly. All this fucking drama over . . . what? She doesn’t want to come to The Manor? Fine. I gave her what she fucking wanted, bowed to her insistence, despite my good intentions, and now this?

I snap, my patience shredded. “Put the fucking clothes back, Ava,” I bellow, battling with her, playing tug-of-fucking-war with her clothes. Her strength is no match for mine, and I wrench everything from her and discard it, then lock down her flailing arms, hoofing her up, and carrying her deranged form into the bedroom.

“Calm the fuck down,” I shout, pinning her to the bed and seizing her jaw, forcing her to look at me. But true to her defiant ways, she slams her eyes closed, shutting me out. God damn her. I need her to see me—to see the desperation in my eyes. The hurt because we’re fighting. “Open your eyes, Ava.”

“No.”

“Open!” I bark.

“No!”

She’s fucking impossible. “Fine.” So she won’t look at me, but she will damn well hear me. “Listen to me, lady,” I say, locking down every muscle, making her struggles to break free impossible. “You’re not going anywhere. I’ve told you repeatedly, so start fucking dealing with it. I’m going to The Manor, and when I get back, we’re going to sit down to talk about us.” She stills. I have her attention. “Cards on the table, Ava,” I go on. “No more fucking about, no more drunken confessions, and no more holding out on me. Do you understand?”