He holds my elbow as we descend the stairs, his grip supportive without being controlling. At the bottom, there's smooth tarmac under my feet, and the black limousine is waiting about twenty feet away.
The unmasked man walks me to it with that same steady hand on my elbow, opens the door, and waits while I duck my head and slide across the buttery leather seat. The windows are tinted so dark, the world outside looks dim and distant.
He settles in beside me, pulling the door shut with a solid, finalthunkthat seals us into the quiet, climate-controlled space.
The silence becomes awkward immediately for some reason. He clears his throat. "So… I… I'm not sure if you've figured it out yet, but… I… like you, Scarletta. I know how this all started was… weird, so it's possible you haven't realized that I like you yet…"
Weird is not the word I would use to describe what 'this' has been.
"But I do," he continues. "And I'm hoping you like me too."
For a moment, neither of us says anything. That awkwardness is thick enough to slice with a knife now.
The scoff I've been holding in finally comes out as I turn to look at him. "I don't even know yourfucking name."
He laughs a little here. Like I said something funny. "It's Caleb. Caleb MacLeay."
I nod, looking him in the eyes. "OK… Caleb. Well… I'm just?—"
"It's all right," he says, hurriedly putting up a hand. "I'm not expecting you to make any kind of commitment right now. You've been through a lot. I just want you to know that I enjoyed our time together and… would like to see you again. Minus—" he waves one hand through the air, like he's trying to clear something away. "Minus the games, ya know?"
The words hit me sideways, scrambling in my brain before they finally slot into place. When they do, laughter bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest—sharp, disbelieving, edged with something that might be hysteria. "You want todateme?" The question comes out louder than I intended, echoing in the confined space of the car. "Like... dinner and a movie? Coffee shops and holding hands in public?"
He presses his lips together—not quite a smile, not quite a grimace—and nods slowly, deliberately. His eyes never leave mine. "I do. But if you're not ready for that yet, I understand. Take whatever time you need." He pauses, and his voice drops lower, softer. "I'll wait."
I stare at him, my mind spinning uselessly like wheels stuck in mud.
What is this man's deal?
What theactual fuckis his fucking deal?
He's been stalking me for months, bought me in a Christmas auction that wasn't even real—just a premise, really—so he could reenact scenes from my book. Which, by the fucking way, ended up with me blacking out and losing memories!
Then he took me to an island under the guise of a Valentine's Day scavenger hunt meant to bolster my trust in him—which worked! Ididtrust him.
I trusted him to keep me safe so explicitly, I put a blindfold on, put ear buds in, and walked into an elaborately staged psychological gauntlet based on a story I wrote in the privacy of my own twisted imagination that ended up being part of some…seriouslyfucking twisted—I don't even know what that was.
I don't understand that man's presence in my maze.
Why was he there?
I'm not going to ask because clearly, he wasn't supposed to be. He was there to hurt me, that's all I understand. And he did.
He fuckingdid.
And then he got tortured and murdered for it.
And now, Caleb, the masked-unmasked man, is sitting here in a luxury car offering me... what?
A relationship?
Romance?
The kind of normal I've never been able to sustain even when I tried?
And invitation to the St. Patrick's Day… fucking… leprechaun dungeon amusement park?
What? What is he offering me here?
