I lift up my hand, making sure he can see it.
Dallas relaxes his stance just enough to take my hand, pressed his warm lips to the metal, then interlace his fingers with mine.
“I’m not,” he says simply. “How can I be?Youare my wife, Lucy. My Dandelion.” He uses our hands to tap his newly healed tattoo. “Remember?”
“No,” I spit out. “Idon’t.”
His expression softens. The anger from before—the anger that Ileft him—simmers, then banks, while his eyes rove over my face. “I know. And if you did, you’d remember that Harmony Heights… it’s fucking ridiculous, but it’s a… high society town is the best way to describe it. Mothers pick out eligible bachelors, sic their single daughters on them. Arranged marriages… they happen. Yeah,” he says when my forehead wrinkles. “I know. What we had… that was real. But after you left… fuck, Luce. The second my old man bit it and I inherited everything he had, I became a goddamn prize. They don’t want to marry Dallas Collins. They want to marry the?—”
He cuts himself short, shaking his head. “In the last year, Heather is the fifth girl who decided to plan a wedding, hoping that I’d show up, take one look at them, and decide I couldn’t live without them. It’s delusion, baby. That’s all.Shemight think we’re getting married. I know better.” He squeezes my fingers. “I’m already married to the woman that I want.”
God, I want to believe that. I want to believe that more than I want to believe anything about my new life.
It would be so easy to do so. Nod and hug Dallas and go up to the penthouse with him as though today didn’t happen at all.
But what if he’slying?
“How do I…”
“Know that I’m telling the truth?” he offers. “Know that I’m not just making up some hard-to-believe story because your amnesia makes you vulnerable to believing anything you’re told?I’m not lying to you, Lucy. Yeah, I know who Heather is, but I amnotmarrying her. Not in two weeks. Not in two months.”
Dallas takes my chin, lifting my head up so that our eyes meet.
He opens his mouth. Thinks about what he’s going to say. Glances over his shoulder where he sees that the storm has begun to move out, the rain slowing substantially.
He looks back. “Will you take a drive with me?”
What?
“Dallas—”
“Please.” The way he rasps the single word… “It’s not far. And maybe… maybe it’s time we see if we can try to bring some of your memories back. Maybe then you’ll understand just how much I love you, and how there willneverbe anyone else for me.”
Put like that, how can I refuse?
When I askDallas if we’re going to go upstairs and change, he shakes his head. He seems determined to show me… something… and since he has his keys with him constantly, and he keeps his car in the nearby parking deck designated for the Fortress, he thinks it’s a better idea if we shake off our soaked clothes, dry off a little in front of the car’s heater, and go wherever he wants to take me.
A better idea? More like he’s terrified I’ll return to the penthouse, lock myself in my room, and refuse to hear him out.
I mean, where else could I go? I know I was living in California before this, but that’s a huge ass state. I’m sure I could find the address, but what then? I’ve been gone for weeks, andit seems as though I was coming back to Harmony Heights for a reason. I’m here now. I don’t think I can leave.
Not yet, at least. And if I can trust Dallas… there’s no reason for me to go.
He led me to a truck, watching me out of the corner of my eye as though he expected me to recognize it. A hint of disappointment when I didn’t, and then we were off..
It’s still raining. Not as bad as before, but when it becomes a steady spray, it makes sense for us not to have changed. Wherever we’re going, it’s outside, and we’re just getting wet again.
It’s growing dark out; whether that’s due to the lingering storm or the hour, I don’t know. I’m surprised when he helps me out of his truck and leads me down a narrow sidewalk that cuts through a copse of trees. The sky gets even darker as we go, and I’m beginning to think that this has been a long con, Dallas is a serial killer, I outlived my usefulness when I called him out on having a fiancé, and now he was taking me deep in the woods so that he could kill me and dispose of the body.
And then, when I start furtively looking around for a stick or a rock or something to protect myself, the narrow sidewalk turns into a wider, somewhat muddy path, opening up on a cozy park complete with benches, a lampposts, and a fountain in the distance.
“Here we go,” he murmurs, breath warm on my chilly ear. “When we were together, you used to love this park. In fact, this is where we first met.”
A park. Not sudden death.
Thank you, anxiety. That wasfun.
I glance over at him, knowing he must see the hope on my face. Hope that he’s being honest with me. Hope that this might work…
