I hitched up a shoulder. “Speaking of double standards, how’s Arabella doing? Seen her recently? You know, not from above?”

Was she exclusive with my father? Christ, I didn’t even want to think about the details.

Vaughn moved his hand from his cheekbone to his chin, rubbing his skin with frustration. He smeared blood from his injured knuckles all over his face. “How the fuck should I know? I’ve exchanged six words with her my entire life, including the trip to Indiana. You’re seeing this guy every single day. Did you have a good practice all those nights?”

I cocked my head, blinking. “How did you know he was here every night?”

His cheeks turned scarlet, lush and youthful. He looked sideways, scowling. “This was a mistake.”

“Remedy that, then. Leave.”

He turned toward the door, putting knots in my chest.

Don’t listen to me. Don’t leave.

He walked, stopped, then spun back on his heel.

“I can’t,” he growled, standing perfectly still, like the statues he made. “God fucking dammit, I can’t leave!”

“You sound like an abused wife.” I fought a smile.

“I feel like one.” He let out a long-suffering sigh. “This thing between us…” He motioned with his hand. “It’s like a failed organ transplant. My body is rejecting whatever it is I’m feeling. It’s foreign and strange in every one of my cells. But it’s there. It’s like cancer, and it’s spreading. I want to purge it out. I want to purge you out, Lenora. You’re a distraction I don’t need.”

“Am I no longer a good girl?” I felt hysteria bubbling up my throat, but stayed calm. I didn’t know whether I wanted to keep the title or not. It meant something to him, which filled me with unexplained pride, but it was also a degrading pet name of sorts.

“You will always be Good Girl.”

“Even after this peep show?” I wiggled my brows, trying to lighten the mood.

He groaned, a human sound from a man much more than a human. “You were never Good Girl because you are good. You’re Good Girl because you’re too good for me, and we’d both be wise to remember that.”

“What makes you think so?” I asked, surprised. He didn’t seem to lack confidence. I stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think many people would agree with that assessment. You have more talent and money, more prospects and looks.”

“And issues and anger-management problems and enemies. The things I’m capable of…” He took a step away from me, letting my hand drop between us. “You shouldn’t be with someone who can do what I’m about to.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, and still, somehow, I knew he was not exaggerating. I’d always had this feeling Vaughn was going to kill someone someday. It had gone through my head the night he came to seek me out after I saw what I saw. I’d wondered if he’d slit my throat.

“I can take care of myself.”

“We have a past and a present, Len. No future.”

“I never asked for a future,” I said, sounding a lot more confident than I felt.

“Goddamn shame.” He tsked.

I didn’t understand what he wanted from me. Sometimes it felt like he was after everything, and sometimes it felt like he wanted nothing at all.

There was a beat of silence.

“Then don’t do it,” I whispered. “Be good enough for me.”

What am I asking? my mind screamed. I don’t even want a relationship.

But this had nothing to do with me. I had a feeling Vaughn was not going to recover from whatever he was about to do.

He shook his head. “I have to.”

“Why?”

“Because I swore it to myself.”

“Break your promise,” I snapped.

He took a step toward me. The never-ending tango of Vaughn Spencer and Lenora Astalis. He cupped my cheek, and I didn’t know why, but it felt a lot like a breakup.

“If we keep this going, and something happens, goodbye would be too much to take. I already want to rip the world apart when someone else touches you.”

“Every painful goodbye starts with a wonderful hello.” I smiled sadly, leaning into his palm, feeling my eyes bright and vivid with unshed tears.

His chest caved, and he took a ragged breath, jerking me to his body. “I don’t know what to do with wonderful things. I always stayed away from them. You kill me, Astalis.”

You killed me when I was twelve. The part that was supposed to like other boys? You took it with you.

I looked up to him, so unbelievably mad that he was making me feel things I had no business feeling, and whispered, “Then die.”

He grabbed the back of my head, twisted his fingers into my hair, and pulled me into an open-mouthed, punishing kiss—scalded by bitter, hot jealousy. His menacing hiss when our tongues touched for the first time told me he wasn’t ready to forgive my little stunt with Pope.