I wouldn’t believe him.
He could tell me the sky was blue and I’d have to look outside to check.
“I’d try.” Shaking my head, I roll my lower lip between my teeth for a second while I try to figure out what I’m trying to say. “I’d try to believe you.”
Before I can figure it out, Dean sighs. “How about this,” he says, loosening his grip, he puts enough space between us so that I can see his face. “I declare this bed Truth Island. We can’t lie to each other here, so if you ask me something, I have to answer honestly and you have to believe me.”
“Truth Island?” I laugh a little at the idea, the sound of it nervous for some reason. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I am.” Raising himself on his elbow, Dean looks down at me with a nod. “No second guessing, no wondering if we’re lying. We can ask each other whatever we want. We don’t have to answer but if we do, it’s the truth. End of story. You agree to that, you can ask me anything you want.”
“Okay…” Nodding my head on the pillow, I look up at him. “Truth Island.”
He flashes me a grin, his teeth making a brief appearance before they disappear. “Alright then—what do you want to know?”
I want to know what you meant on the plane when you said that Paige lied to us both.
If you regret what’s happening between us.
If it means anything to you.
“What did you want to tell me earlier?” When he just looks at me like he doesn’t understand the question, I sigh. “You asked me if I wanted to know a secret…”
“Oh.” Giving me a smile that makes him look a little uncomfortable, he sighs. “I know your name is Melisandre.”
“That’s not a secret.” I give him an exasperated eye roll. “I already know that. My father?—”
“No…” He shakes his head while giving me a lopsided smile. “I’ve always known.” I must look confused because he chuckles quietly. “Come on, Mills—you’reMelisandre Blackwell. Ilivein New York—how could Inotknow your name?”
“I don’t understand.” I feel my brow furrow. “If you already knew then why?—”
“Why the years long guessing game?” That grin of his shifts into a smirk. “I already told you—I like watching your eye twitch.” Lifting a hand, he moves my hair over my shoulder, the brush of his fingers against the side of my neck sending a shiver down my spine. “Your turn. Tell me a secret, Mills.”
I don’t want to go back to New York.
I want to stay here and I want you to stay with me.
I think I might be falling for you.
“I hate the opera,” I tell him instead. “My family has held a box at The Met for nearly a century and I go several times a year but I hate it.”
Dean laughs. “Definehate.”
“If someone offered me the alternative of having my fingernails pulled out with a pair of rusty pliers, I’d jump at the chance, rather than sit through three hours of listening to people yodel in Italian.”
“Mmm…” Dean gives me a bemused smile. “I’ll add that to my collection.”
“Your collection?”
“Of random facts about Millie…” The bemused look on his face shifts into something else. Something deeper. “Believe it or not, I pay attention.”
“Like?”
“Like you went to Yale but your safety school was MIT. Like you love French scrambled eggs and vintage Dior. Like your birthday is in May and your favorite color is green.” Lifting his hand again, he skims his fingertips across my forehead. “Like when you’re frustrated, you get this little line, right here…” Letting his fingers move lower, Dean traces them along the curve of my jaw. “It usually shows up when you’re getting ready to tell me what a cocky, miserable bastard I am.”
“I don’t think you’re miserable,” I tell him on a breathless laugh. “I think you’re actually quite satisfied with yourself.” Shaking my head, I feel that line he mentioned pucker against my forehead. “How do you know all that?”
“I told you, Mills—” He gives me one of his frustratingly sexy smirks while his fingers trail lightly down the line of my neck. “I pay attention.”
