Page 80 of Shattered Crown
"I'm sorry?"
"You didn't give me much of a choice, did you?"
The room went very still.
I looked at Mr. Kahale. His face had changed. The tired kindness was gone, replaced by something hard. Bitter. He was looking at Sebastian the way you'd look at something rotting.
"I don't understand," I heard myself say.
Mr. Kahale's eyes moved to me. And there it was. Pity. Clear and unmistakable.
My stomach dropped.
"I'm only doing this because I care about my hotel," he said quietly. "Otherwise, I wouldn’t respond kindly to threats."
Threats.
The word hung in the air.
I turned to Sebastian.
He hadn't moved. His hand was still half-raised, frozen in that gesture of thanks that now looked obscene. The color had drained from his face.
"What is he talking about?"
Sebastian's mouth opened. Closed.
"Sebastian." My voice sounded strange. Far away. "What is he talking about?"
Mr. Kahale pushed back from his desk and rose slowly, his joints protesting the movement. "The paperwork will be sent to your lawyers, Mr. Dubois. I trust you'll honor at least some of what you promised."
He walked past us. Past me. His footsteps were slow, heavy with age and something else. Defeat, maybe. Or disgust.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
I sat there.
The sunlight was streaming through the windows. Warm and golden, the way it always was in this room. Outside, I could hear birds singing. The distant murmur of the ocean. All the sounds of paradise, continuing on like nothing had happened.
Threats.
I turned the word over in my mind. I tried to make it fit with the man beside me. The man who'd held me last night. Who'd kissed me this morning. Who'd looked at me like I was something precious.
"Aria."
His voice cracked on my name.
I looked at him.
He was still standing. His hand had finally dropped to his side. He looked like someone had punched him in the stomach.
"What did you do?"
He didn't answer.
"Sebastian." I stood up. My legs felt unsteady. "What did you do?"
He started pacing. Three steps toward the window. Three steps back. His hand went to his hair, gripping, pulling.
