“Aye. But I'm also right.” I force myself to step back, putting distance between us before I lose control completely. “Go get dressed, lass. I'll make breakfast.”
“Ashland—”
“After we eat, you're going to ask me every question you have. About the watching, the photos, all of it. And I'm going to answer honestly. No more secrets between us.” I let her see the seriousness in my eyes.
I turn and head inside before I can change my mind. Before I can throw her over my shoulder and take her to bed, like every instinct is screaming at me to do.
In the kitchen, I lean against the counter, my hands gripping the edge, breathing hard.
She called my violence beautiful.
Chapter Twenty
Ashland
I makepancakes because I know they're her favorite, with fresh berries on top because I've watched her eat them that way for years.
She sits across from me at the small table, pushing the berries around with her fork. “I’m starting to sort of like that you know so much about me. It’s a little endearing.”
“Endearing’s better than creepy.”
Does shelikeit when I tell her the details I know?
“What else do you know about me?” she asks, taking a big gulp of tea as if to hide her nerves.
“Your favorite book isLe Morte d'Arthur. You cry every time Lancelot and Guinevere are discovered, and probablynotbecause they were caught, but because you believe true love should triumph even when it's wrong.”
I’m cheating a little because she may have said as much in an essay I read word for word. The professor gave her a low mark because he’s a prick, but we had a little chat, and she passed that class with flying colors.
Her throat works as she swallows.
“You bite your lip when you're thinking about something you want but don't think you should have. Like you're doing right now.”
She releases her lip immediately, and I can't help the small smile.
“You sleep on your left side with one leg out of the covers because you run hot at night. Your favorite color is actually green, not pink, like everyone assumes. I’m guessing your mom dressed you in pink when you were growing up because that washerfavorite.” I pause when I see a flare of recognition in her eyes. “And you have a small birthmark on your right hip that's shaped like a star.”
Her face flames red. “How do you know about the birthmark?”
“The photos.”
She goes very still. “Show me.”
Fuck. I knew this was coming, but I'm still not ready.
“Bianca—”
“You said no more secrets. Show me the photos. All ofthem.” Her voice is steady, but her hands aren't. “I want to see exactly how deep this obsession goes.”
This is it. The moment she'll see me for the monster I am and run.
But I stand anyway, walk to my bedroom, and retrieve the lockbox that holds years of obsession.
When I return and set it on the table between us, my hands are surprisingly steady.
“Once you see this, you can't unsee it,” I warn. “And you might decide you need?—”
“I just calledmy kidnapperfrom an alleyway to come save me from my murderous fiancé. I can handle it.Showme.”
