I look up, doing a shit job of hiding the surprise on my face.
River frowns at me. “I was going to say, be careful. Because someone who can make you lose focus like this? That’s someone who can destroy you if you’re not careful.”
“I know,” I say quietly.
“Does she know?” River asks. “How you feel?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s not ready to hear it. Because she’s scared of this. Of me. And if I tell her, she’ll run. So I’m giving her time. Letting her come to it on her own terms.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
I don’t reply because I don’t know what to say to that. Bambi and I are inevitable. I feel it in my bones, and I can’t see this playing out any other way.
River watches me for another moment, then nods slowly. “Alright. But if whatever this is puts you or our family at risk, you need to tell me.”
“It won’t.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Yes, I can. I’ll make sure of it.”
For a second River looks like he wants to argue, but then he thinks better of it and steps aside to let me through.
“For what it’s worth.” He says, stopping me just as I brush past him. “If this is you happy, then I’m happy. We all are. I just hope she’s worth it.”
She is.I think to myself.She’s worth everything.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Dahlia
I figured Echo had money.
The car he drives gave it away. It’s sleek, expensive, and rare. Something you can only buy when you have more than enough to spare. His clothes were also a tell. He never wears flashy designer logos or those god awful all-over-print patterns, but you can tell that everything he wears is expensive. Even without touching it, the quality of the fabric stands out.
But this? This is insane. I stand in the middle of his room, trying to wrap my head around it.
The house is massive. A sprawling estate with security gates, cameras at every angle, and grounds that look like they belong in a magazine. His room alone is bigger than my entire apartment, Fallon’s room included.
He never gave off the impression of someone who lived in a mansion. He’s too understated. Too controlled. And he never flashed his money around me. But the marble floors, the floor-to-ceiling windows, and furniturethat probably costs more than most people make in a year. All of that tells a different story.
Echo isn’t just comfortable. He’s wealthy. Old money, maybe. Or new money so well-established it might as well be old. Either way, it’s a reminder that I don’t really know him. Not as much as I thought I did.
I move slowly through his room, taking everything in. The walls are painted a deep charcoal gray, almost black in the low light. A king-sized bed dominates the center of the room, covered in dark sheets and a thick comforter that looks ridiculously soft. There's a leather chair in the corner, worn at the arms as if he actually sits in it, and a bookshelf lined with titles I can't quite make out from here.
Oh, and the smell. It’s him. That stupidly addictive, clean, woody scent clings to everything. The bedding, the air, the space itself.
I walk toward the dresser and let my fingers trail along the edge. He’s always the one asking questions. Always the one learning about me, but here, I finally get to learn more about him.
On the dresser, there’s a framed photo. I gently pick it up and stare at it. It’s a picture of three boys and a younger girl. They’re standing in front of this house, or at least it looks like it, with their arms slung over each other’s shoulders. The girl is laughing at one of the boys. The other boy next to him is smirking. And Echo. Echo almost looks…happy.
It’s so different from the version of him I’m used to that it takes me a second to recognize him. That must be his family.
I set the photo down and move toward the window. The view overlooks their perfectly manicured backyardand their Olympic-sized pool that looks like it’s never been used.
