After Clyde kissed his forehead, Micah could hardly breathe. His heart was still thumping against his ribs, yet his face burned hotter when he noticed Darcy stood in the doorway, having seen it all. He braced himself for the inevitable. For Darcy's pointed question, for something, anything that would force him to explain what just happened, what was his relationship with Clyde, and then by answering breaking his heart right after having snatched his family and fortune. God damn it! He was disgusted by himself; then what would Darcy think of him?
But Darcy didn't say a word. Nothing.
They walked side by side down the hallway, their footsteps muffled against the plush carpet. Micah's mind raced, trying to come up with excuses if he was asked, but the silence stretched, suffocating. Finally, when they reached the corridor that split toward their separate room, Darcy slowed, casually popping his shoulder against the wall.
