“Why?”
He cocks his head, his brows pinching, almost appearing unsure. “I guess so it could feel like ours, not just mine. So it doesn’t feel like blackmail, but just… something we did together.”
My mouth opens then promptly shuts again before I frown.
That’s oddly… sweet?
Why do I find that so sweet?
“Oh. Cool,” I say awkwardly, a smirk spreading across his face once again. I narrow my eyes, attempting to mask the embarrassment burning my cheeks with an annoyance I’m struggling to truly feel.
“Don’t think I was being cute wearing your T-shirt. It was an accident. I meant to grab one of mine.”
He hums. “Guess I’m gonna have to burn all your clothes.”
“You wouldn’t,” I growl as he leans down until his lips brush mine and he’s inhaled every drop of my oxygen into his greedy lungs, leaving me bereft.
“I would. You’ll be lucky if I let you wear anything else when we’re married.”
My mouth pops open again.
He might as well have punched me in the chest. I’m breathless, utterly at a loss. Mostly, though, I can’t tell if he’s being cruel or not.
“That’s not funny,” I whisper.
He presses a soft kiss to my lips, but I keep my eyes open, waiting for him to tell me he was joking.
He retreats just enough to catch my gaze, a rare softness in his eyes as his thumb drags down my bottom lip. But the part that scares me most is how incredibly serious he looks.
“I never laughed, darling.”
CHAPTER 29
DREAD
“Mr. Sharpe, can you comment on your relationship with Charlotte D’Amour? Why did she change her name to Reverie Adams? Does she still have a relationship with Lionel? How do you two make it work, since you’re the reason Lionel went to prison?”
The journalist shoving a microphone in my face has two seconds before he’s swallowing my fist.
I pause and look him dead in the eye, enjoying how he shrinks back. “Charlotte D’Amour doesn’t exist anymore. What the fuck kind of reporter are you?”
Leaving him stunned, I continue walking up the sidewalk to my dorm when another journalist—an older woman this time—shoves her microphone in my face next.
“Mr. Sharpe, what about Gabi Loren’s accusations against Charlotte for the disappearance of Mindy Sackler? Are you not concerned your girlfriend is following in her father’s footsteps and murderinginnocent women like your mother?”
My fucking God, I actually might kill this woman.
I pause for a second time and settle an icy glare on her, watching her visibly swallow. “Do you have a fucking meatball for a brain? Otherwise, you would’ve done your job and already discovered Gabi’s claims are unsubstantiated. There’s zero evidence Reverie had anything to do with Mindy’s disappearance.”
The woman juts out her chin, attempting to appear unaffected, though her stare is fiery. “The same could be said about your accusations against Lionel D’Amour, yet that didn’t stop you from sending him to prison for over a decade. Are you admitting you put away an innocent man, Mr. Sharpe? What would your mother think about that? Do you think she’d be disappointed in you?”
My vision flickers, the sudden onslaught of fury like a punch to the chest. Even a few other reporters gasp, staring at the woman with outrage and shock. She doesn’t appear unapologetic in the slightest.
Considering I can’t commit homicide in broad daylight, I do the only thing I can do and let out a laugh, the insidious sound forcing her back with a startled look. She must see the murder in my eyes. Maybe she’ll finally realize that between me and Reverie, the one most likely to commit murder isme, and the dumb bitch is currently giving me very little reason to spare her life.
I resume walking, and, for what might be the first time in her life, she’s smart enough not to follow me. However, the rest of the vultures do, though they seem to have enough self-preservation not to ask about Lionel, my mother, or Mindy’s disappearance again.
“How serious is the relationship between you and Charlotte, Mr. Sharpe?” one journalist pipes up.
