“My family aren't good people,” he mutters, and I huff.
“Snap,” I breathe with a humorless grin, and I spy a half smirk from the man beside me as I dare to glimpse at him from the corner of my eye.
Silence dances over us, a familiar setting as he works his jaw with his free hand. I can tell he's deep in thought when his lips part again.
“Were you a product of your surroundings, Elodie?” he asks, and my gut twists.
“Yes,” I admit, and he nods.
“Me too.”
“Then what happened?” I quiz, my curiosity getting the better of me as he sighs.
His long fingers run through his hair as he swipes it back off his face. “It's complicated.”
“How vague of you,” I say with a loose smile, turning to face him, and his gaze draws to mine instantly.
“I needed the space to figure out who I am,” he explains, like that makes any sense at all.
“Is that why you killed that girl?” The words are tasteless on my tongue as his brows furrow.
“What girl?” he asks, and my eyes widen.
“There have been others?” I bluster on a choked breath, and he gives me a pointed look.
Clearing my throat, I sigh. “I mean, the reason you were at The Sanctum,” I clarify, and he rubs his lips together. I can’t tell if the topic has reached its limit and he's not going to say anything else on the matter, but I find myself wanting to continue talking anyway. “How has this place been going for you?”
He stares straight ahead through the windshield. I don't know why I asked, but the question fills the air, thickening with every breath before he speaks. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve been completely consumed by you.”
My gaze snaps to him, only to find him staring at me already.
“No, you’re not,” I grumble, and he rolls his eyes.
“Of course, you're right. What do I know?” he mutters, shaking his head at me.
Tension thickens around us. “Did you manage to discover anything about yourself tonight?” he asks, changing the subject.
My defenses rise instantly, but I manage to tamp them down. He’s been a little open with me; he deserves that in return, even if I have little to say. “I don't know,” I admit.
“Yet you’re still walking around in Ocean's clothes,” he points out, and I frown.
“What did you expect me to do? Change halfway through?”
He shrugs like it's as simple as that, but even as his eyes eat me up, I’m not prepared for his next words. “You can do it now.”
I can’t breathe as my pulse thunders in my ears. “No, I can’t.”
His tongue flicks out, running across his lips in a way that should not be hot.
“Show me,” he pushes, and I shake my head. “Show me,” he insists, and before I can blink, he moves, gone from the seat beside me, his hand no longer on my thigh, only to reappear a moment later with a specific piece of silk dangling from his fingertips. “Maybe this is more you than what you're wearing now,” he offers, running his gazeover the jeans and sweater I borrowed from Ocean.
“Of course that’s what you chose,” I grumble, and his eyes dance with a challenge.
“Prove me wrong.” His tone matches the laser focus in his eyes.
“You're insane,” I mutter, and he grins. “I’m not trying it on here,” I protest, and he levels me with a stare that takes my breath away.
“It's here or in my room,” he grunts, reaching to cup my cheek as he stares deep into my eyes. “I'm locked in.”
