I scoff. I don’t believe that for a second. “Since when?”
“Since the day my best friend left for a UCLA campus tour and never came home.”
A chill falls over my limbs, and my heart pauses just before plummeting. “Oh,” I muster.
Roman squeezes the steering wheel with both hands. “I’m sorry, Stell. I didn’t mean to?—”
“I don’t mind talking about Brice,” I say, my tone quiet and my eyes downcast.
“Yeah? Well, I do.” He swallows, his eyes never leaving the road. “I can’t be the same person I was back then.”
“None of us are. You can still talk about him. It might help. Mom always said it helps sharing memories of him.”
“Not when they’re cruel like that. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry,” he says.
“It was honest, Roman. It’s okay to be honest.” My throat aches with unshed tears, with the irony of my words.
“Are you sure about that? We have literally entered into adishonestmarriage. One that requires lies at all times.”
I breathe out a humorless laugh. He has no idea how spot on he is. “Instead of lies, can’t we just say that this arrangement?—”
“Our marriage,” he says, glancing over at me.
“—is for the benefit of both of us. To provide us and our loved ones with help and happiness. Isn’t that why anyone gets married?”
“That’s one way to spin it.” He smirks.
I release a shaky breath, staring at my new husband. “You already regret it. Don’t you?”
His brows lower. “No. I don’t.” He gives me one small glance before returning to the road.
And that’s all I’m going to get.
“Speaking of our arrangement,” he says. “I’ve been doing a little research. We’ll need to learn everything we can about the other.”
“Once upon a time, I knew you. And you knew me,” I say, because it’s true.
“Favorite color?” he asks.
I sigh. “Blue. Just like you.”
His lips twitch. “You remember that?”
I remember a lot about Roman Graves, but I don’t say as much. My reasons for marrying Roman did not include entrapping him.
“Favorite food?” he asks.
“Pancakes.”
He waits one second. “Do you know mine?”
“You used to down a bag of hot Cheetos like it was a shot of water.”
He laughs. “That’s true.”
And I remember that he always had a lemonade with him wherever he went. And he always stayed for dinner, but he’d take home leftovers whenever Mom made enchiladas. I play it cool, though. “It was hard to forget. You and Brice grossed me out eating those.”
“Hey, Brice is the one who spent ten minutes licking his fingers after.”
