He pressed his lips together as he cringed. “Sorry.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“For the plot?” he joked.
I deadpanned at him, but it only made him smile more.
“There never seemed to be a right time to bring it up. In comparison to everythin’ else going on, I didn’t care about some casual arson.”
“Casual arson. Jesus Christ…” I muttered, still mildly shocked as I processed the information. “Does Antonio know?”
“He thought it was his kids until they admitted they didn’t. I don’t know who he thinks did it now.”
“And Dad? He doesn’t suspect anything?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You know if they did find out—”
“Your dad would includetampering with evidenceon my record, and Antonio would probably kill me.”
I breathed in deep, shaking my head. “Am I the only one who knows?”
He nodded once as he studied the end of my hair between his fingertips.
“I’m not sure if I should be concerned that you got away with it or impressed.”
“I’m kinda surprised myself,” he admitted.
“Well, your secret is safe with me. And from now on, so are any others. Open communication from here on out. Every little worried thought or uncomfortable idea. Or plans to burn down another mob boss establishment.” I offered him my hand to shake on it. “Deal?”
The crooked smile on his face created a dimple in his cheek. He took my hand, shook on the decision, and then brought my knuckles to his lips. “Deal.”
“Good.” I smiled easily, wiping at the remaining wetness of my eyes and cheeks as I sniffled again. “Ugh, I’m all congested now.”
“Sexy.”
It was harder to deadpan this time when the smile refused to leave my face.
I turned to face him, kneeling between his legs. “I love you.”
“Love you too.” His mouth twitched. “Snot and all.”
I pulled a face and then climbed out of his lap, taking a steadying breath.
Chapter 43
Lily
The hem of my sleeve had seen better days before I arrived at the waiting room outside the psychologist’s office. The fabric was frayed thanks to my insistent urge to pick at any loose threads. I was one tug away from unraveling more of it before Dean casually took hold of my hand.
He had been waiting for me outside the doctor’s office building when I arrived in an Uber. Still in his navy-blue coveralls with the top half folded down to his hips and the sleeves tied around his waist. He had a lollipop in his mouth and wore a backwards baseball cap and white T-shirt, and had smiled at me like there was nothing to worry about. Which was true — my anxiety just wasn’t aware of that.
We had been waiting for ten or so minutes since arriving, after I gave my details at the desk. Apart from picking at my sleeve, I spent the time staring at the abstract art hanging on the walls. I wasn’t paying attention to the details in the brush strokes. I was too busy thinking about the next chapter of my life. And what this one introduction to therapy was about to change.
The door of the psychologist’s office opened, and my heart skipped several beats as I straightened in my seat.
Doctor Hamdan was a stout man with a head of unruly gray curls, a friendly face, and kind brown eyes, but that still didn’t settle my nerves. I was about to share parts of my life with him.
