He doesn’t react.
Probably anticipating me coming to the conclusion that I’m trapped here with him if I don’t want to betray my friends.
With the truth.
I rise and dust what I can of his hair off of my hands and clothes. “I’ll tell Giselle I’m staying,” I mutter.
“I’ll take the couch.”
“If you double-cross me with this treasure stuff?—”
“I’ve already done all of the shitty things I intend to do for the rest of my life. Least harm is the goal.”
I believe him.
I don’t want to, but I do.
And I’m taking a guilt-inducing amount of delight in knowing that I butchered his hair.
It’s not his fault he found a story about the supposed real history of Shipwreck and Sarcasm, but I blame him for the role I suddenly have to play in it.
And then the shame descends too, making me feel like my skin is too tight for my body. “Would you have dragged me into this mess even if I hadn’t asked you to pretend to be my fiancé?”
He lifts his gaze to mine and holds it, those velvety brown eyes telegraphing the answer without him saying a word.
Yes.
Yes, he would’ve.
Because Patrick Dixon was already dragging me into it.
Because I made myself a target when I decided to make the museum my life.
An unwitting target, but a target nonetheless.
There’s no other way this ended than with Davis appointing himself my guardian and asking for my help finding the treasure.
I just made it easy for him when I asked him to be the pretend love of my life.
“Does Patrick know? About Thorny Rock and Walter Bombeck and their true identities?”
Davis’s eyes tighten. “I think he suspects, but he doesn’tknow.”
“Are you really related to him?”
“Very distantly.”
“Through Thorny Rock. The real, biological Thorny Rock.”
“Yes.”
And if there was a clue hidden in Thorny Rock’s coat—which might be Walter Bombeck’s coat?—then Patrick might be ahead of the game.
Davis and I have to find the treasure.
“Where’s your broom? I’ll clean up the rest of your hair. You should go shower.”
“If it helps, I’m mad at myself for finding all of this out too.”
