He doesn’t reply at first, and I realize he’s in a difficult place, too.
He knows the truth about what I’ve done. He’s asked me to tell him what I know. But he hasn’t come clean to his family yet, and he’s likely torn between his allegiance to his family, and… what else?
I can’t say allegiance to me. He isn’t loyal to me like he is to them.
Is he? Does he have even the smallest measure of protectiveness for… me?
I start with a glimmer of truth, a sliver of honesty. “I got in trouble in the first place for lying, and I don’t want to make that mistake again.”
He nods, his hand coming to rest atop mine. His thumb brushes across the top of my hand. Thoughtful.
“That’s a good start.”
I open my mouth, and the words spill out without my consent, rushed and a bit choked. “I grew up thinking lying was simply something one did when the time was right. I had no incentive to tell the truth, not when a lie would get me out of trouble in school, with the headmaster, with my mom.” I draw in a breath. “My mom lied to me, and I lied right back.”
His eyes hold mine, and he doesn’t look surprised, he doesn’t judge. He just listens. And in that moment, it means everything to me. Silence hangs between us with the weight of emptiness until he finally nods, his voice rough when he says, “Go on.”
“That isn’t an excuse, though. As time went on, the consequences for dishonesty became apparent, and I knew thatpeople who wanted to be trusted and respected had to be people who told the truth. And still… I lied.”
Only now, I did so much more cautiously. Selectively. Lying became a justifiable means to an end, rather than a habit or something to take lightly. I lied when I felt it appropriate, and somehow, in my mind anyway, that made it all better.
“Telling the truth doesn’t come easy for me, Tate.”
“You’re doing perfectly.”
My heart swells, and I quickly swallow a lump that rises in my throat. For the first time in my life, I want to be brutally, painfully honest. I don’t want to even sugarcoat the truth or tell a white lie. I don’t want anything but truth between me and Tate.
“But if I tell you everything I know,” I say gently, thinking before I say each carefully-picked word, “I… could betray the confidence of someone I love.”
Without a word, he reaches for my waist. He slings me over his lap, so my knees fall on either side of him, and I’m facing him. I still have to look up to meet his eyes, those gorgeous shimmering blue, fragments of sapphire. He slings his fingers together behind my back. They settle there, with reassuring comfort, and even though I’m distraught, liquid heat races through me.
“Then let me make this easier on you.”
Easier on me? How? The only bloody way for him to make it easier for me would be to lay me out and—God, my mind.
I watch him warily, bringing myself back to the present, and nod.
“I’ll ask you yes or no questions. You can nod yes or shake your head no. I won’t ask you to tell me details, and you’ll give me just enough so I can figure out what I need to on my own.”
I hesitate, even while relief floods me.
When I don’t respond, I watch the muscles in his face tighten, and a shiver of fear coils in my belly. He may have a gentle side, but I must never forget how dangerous Tate Cowen truly is.
“Or,” he says, his voice hardening, “we can revisit punishment and interrogation, and I’ll get everything you know out of you and then some.”
“Tate…” My voice trails off, and I bite my lip.
He doesn’t reply, but holds my gaze, unblinking, and I know he means every word.
I sigh. “Right then. Okay. Let’s try it the easy way and see how that goes.”
He smiles, his eyes crinkling a bit around the edges, and it does funny little things to my heart. I stifle a sigh.
“Do you know things about the Welsh?”
Nod.
“Have you visited them?”
