Not surprising.
If Cyril’s info is correct—and Cyril’s info is nearly always correct—then Rhys is in the same line of business as Cyril, who would also be questioning my story. And I’m sure the military time didn’t help the paranoia.
Good thing Lucky prepped me fairly well with what to say about dropping out of nursing school. And that I love research. “Did you know there’s this thing where you can do all of the normal things like get your shots and give blood at blood drives and have it taken for medical tests, but you have a panic attack when you have to stick someone else with a needle?”
He twists his neck so that he can peer at me again, the water rushing over his forehead now.
Doubt that solves the dye problem though.
His face will have purple streaks and smears for days. The dye’s been on too long for it to completely wash off on the first try.
I gesture to my hair, once again fighting an urge, this time to offer to help him. Now that the adrenaline has fully left my body, the guilt is seeping in harder. “You probably want to rinse your entire head. The dye’s permanent, and the longer you leave it in, the darker it’ll get.”
“The—fuck.”
It could be a question.
Or a statement.
I shrug one shoulder. “My mom always told me to make sure intruders could be identified later. And Lucky told me—well, he said no one else was using the cabin, which I interpreted to mean no one else would be showing up. Logically. And especially when we’re talking about someone arriving at one in the morning.”
Say sorry, Margot. Say the words. Say you’re sorry.
I grimace while I swallow the urge.
Iamsorry, and also, Iwasjustified in setting up a warning system, and I’ve also been working hard for the past few years to be the type of person who apologizes, despite the way I was raised.
But I don’t know if this is anI’m sorrysituation.
Exactly.
What if he’d been a real intruder?
His face is granite as he fishes his phone out of his pocket.
He lifts it, but I’m certain he’s not taking a photo of me, which suddenly has me freaking out a little as I realize I forgot to put on my glasses, which are part of my Margie Johnson disguise.
His growl confirms for me, though, that he’s using his phone’s camera as a mirror to check himself out.
He’s a mess.
He really is.
His face will be streaked purple. His hair will be streaked purple.
I did a good job of defending my castle all on my own.
My father stripped Daphne of her security detail when he disinherited her over four years ago.
I wondered while I was setting this up tonight if she ever did the same. She refused my offer to keep paying for security for her—actually, she refused every offer of any kind of assistance I made—out of sheer spite. Not against me, but to prove she could make it on her own despite having absolutely zero preparation on how to live life without a trust fund.
I’ve always loved her, but my level of admiration has hit peak levels these past four years, and she’s the reason I decided to learn to be someone who apologizes when I’m wrong.
“Fuck on a waffle.” Rhys’s voice is still rough, but it has a strangled quality to it now too.
I make myself set the cast-iron skillet on the Formica countertop as I realize I’m still gripping it hard enough that my hand is aching, and I push this conversation with Rhys just a little further. “So now that you know why I’m here, why areyouhere?”
He lowers his phone and glares at me, then buries his whole head under the faucet for a long time, scrubbing his face and his beard and his hair.
