She rises. “Ball’s in your court, Davis. And if this means you bail on the fake fiancé thing…I’ll figure out how to deal with that too.”
20
Sloane
“Wait.”
My first instinct upon hearing Davis’s request is to comply. Especially when my heart is pounding this fast and my mouth is dry and my legs are shaking and when obeying was ingrained in me from early, early,earlyin my childhood.
Someone uses an authoritative voice to tell you to do something, you do it. You’re not in charge. They are.
And there are consequences when you’re disobedient.
I fight through the urge to comply, through the urge to do what he says, to listen to my body yelling that it’s dangerous to disobey, and I don’twait.
I keep walking toward the camper. I need to gather my things and ask Giselle if she’ll give me a ride into town.
The sheriff told me I can get back into my house tomorrow or Friday. So I just need to stay with Tillie Jean or Annika for a night.
Maybe longer, depending on how much time it takes to clean my house up.
Which I willnotbe afraid of.
I won’t.
I’ll be strong while I get through the rest of this.
Leaves rustle behind me, and then Davis is in front of me. “I’ll show you my family tree.”
“Not interested.”
“Sloane—”
“I am not interested. I don’t wantone partof your secrets. If you want my help, you have to give me everything you have. The days of me being satisfied with breadcrumbs are over. And don’t think I’ll settle for a single loaf either. That’s not enough. I want the whole fucking bakery. And I don’t mean you and me naked. I mean full partner in the treasure hunt. You get me?”
Peggy meows softly, like she’s alerting me that my blood pressure is getting dangerously high.
As if I can’t tell by the buzzing in my ears and the narrowing in my vision.
I don’t do this.
I don’t yell at people who help me. I don’t tell my boss I’m taking the next two days off of work because finding a treasure is the most important thing in my life.
I smile. I have fun. I make friends. I hide the darker parts of myself and tell myself I don’t need to feel guilt or shame for existing, that if God is real, he’ll know I did my best.
But my museum was broken into. My house was trashed. I’m getting fake-married to a man who wants my help and is willing to give me orgasms but not willing to give me his real motivations to find what he wants my help finding.
I’ve hit my breaking point.
I’m finding the damn treasure.
I’m taking care of myself.
I’m putting an end to all of this.
Now.
Davis stares down at me in the darkness, and I hear a joint pop.
