Clyde drew the curtains with a slow, careful motion until the room dimmed. He turned from the window as if the world outside had been muted. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until spots danced behind his lids. When he lowered them, veins throbbed along his forehead. He was trying hard to restrain himself.
From the villa's second-story window, he had watched the beach, watched the two of them entangled together. He couldn't hear exactly what Micah and Darcy were saying, but even if he could have, he couldn't get close; he couldn't meddle. These two had to come to terms with the swap at birth by themselves. Whatever the truth did to them, it was theirs to digest.
But never in a million years had he imagined Darcy would make a move on Micah. The intimate hug, the intimate touch, and then the way his face got close to Micah, his heart bled seeing all of it.
