As Fiona turned to go, Jackson caught her wrist, his eyes filled with a longing he couldn’t hide.
“Mr. Woods, do you need something?” she asked, her voice cool.
That formal “Mr. Woods” hit him like a punch.
“Fiona, don’t you have anything to say to your brother?” he pressed, just hoping for even a simple, “Why?”
Fiona paused, eyes lowered, then looked up—her usually warm gaze now sharp as glass. “What exactly does Mr. Woods want me to say?” She let out a dry, almost mocking laugh. “Should I admit how much I miss you, how hard this has been? Or tell you how deep my feelings go? Or maybe you want me to ask why you disappeared without even saying goodbye?”
She glanced at her wrist, then slowly pried his fingers away, one by one. Red marks bloomed where he’d held her, but she stayed calm, her face unreadable.
“Fiona, it’s not what you think. It’s just—” Jackson almost blurted out the truth about her being in danger, but he swallowed the words.
“Fiona.”
“Mr. Woods, let go.”
She yanked her wrist free, not bothering to listen to whatever excuse he might have. They were both strong enough to protect themselves now, so what reason could possibly justify keeping them apart? Maybe, she thought, the feelings just weren’t enough.
“Fiona, you know your brother would never hurt you.”
“I know.” She suddenly laughed, the sound cold. She met his eyes, chin tilted just so. “That’s why, tomorrow at the competition, I’m going to win.”
With that, Fiona turned and walked quickly back to her room.
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