I swallow hard. “Well…it sounds to me like he needs someone to find a way into his safe little cave…draw him out into the sun.”
“Like…a warrior princess.”
“Yeah. But…someone who can’t see his scales.” I prop an arm behind my head, trying to envision the sketch in her hands.
“What? Why not?”
“I don’t know…maybe she’s blind?”
Silence. Then, “Really? That’s your pitch?”
“Okay, magically blind or…colorblind. Enchanted by a spell or something,” I say, chuckling. “The point is, she can’t see the scales everyone else wants. Not until the spell is broken. By then, she’s seen who he is without the scales. Just…”Me. “Him.”
There’s a long pause, and I suddenly want to take it all back, stuff it down. But I can’t, it’s already out there. When she finally speaks, the sound is full and bright. “That’s…kind of perfect.”
“Yeah? I mean—yeah. Well, I’m full of great ideas.”
She laughs, lighting up the whole room. “I know.”
When the silence settles again, it’s warm and heavy. Like a weighted blanket.
“Brody?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re a good man. On the inside and out. And you need to know that.”
The words fill my chest. I can’t speak. Can’t breathe. Can’t process what she just said. Because she just saw through every wall I’ve built. Every carefully constructed lie I tell myself about being all show and no substance, and…
And she thinks I’m good.
“I gotta go,” I manage. “I’ve got an early flight tomorrow to Vancouver.”
“Right. Of course. But, Brody?”
“Yeah?”
“Go big, Number Seven.”
I think I love her.
I set down the phone. Stare at it for a long moment. Conrad’s words echo in my head.Be real. Admit you’re wrong. Ask how you can fix it.
I’ve been running because I’m scared. But maybe—just maybe—it’s not too late to turn around.
I get up, grab the ice bucket, and head out into the hall. Pile ice from the machine into it, return to my room, and shove my swollen knuckles into the cold.
CHLOE
Of all the ways I imagined spending my sister’s wedding weekend, sitting alone in a honeymoon suite wasn’t one of them.
And yet, here I am. A complete fraud with my fake relationship, unpacking in the Lakeside Suite—king bed, stone fireplace crackling away, rose petals scattered across white bedding like someone’s Pinterest board exploded. There’s champagne chilling in an ice bucket. Chocolate-covered strawberries on the nightstand.
The whole nine yards of romance.
For me.
Alone.
