But I don’t have to imagine it. I’m not the open book he thinks I am.
He won’t win this bet, but I do need to know what he thinks he sees.
Know the enemy.
Don’t let them know you.
“Fine,” I say, trying my best to ignore his erection. “Give it your best shot.”
He hardly hesitates.
“First of all, I’m going to lock in that you are in fact at the top of your class. You’re very smart but equally stubborn, and that stubbornness makes youdriven. When you commit to something, you can’t be talked out of it, and God help anyone who tries to stop you.”
“Is your strategy simply to make vague statements and hope to flatter the other person into believing you? Because?—”
“Hold on.” He squeezes my shoulders as he chuckles. “I’m not finished. ThereasonI think you’re both smart and stubborn is because you recognized that the shovel I planted was to draw you out of the cave. For at least a half hour, you chose to remain stuck because you’re too proud to run into a trap. But once you committed to escaping, you were a hellcat. I’m not sure the Keepers could’ve caught you even if they hadn’t been instructed to let you go.”
“O-kay,” I say in ago ontone. “Anything else?”
“Your teeth are healthy and white, but the top two are crooked. That tells me you come from a well-maintained home but not necessarily money. But with a closer look at your appearance, it’s obvious.”
“How is it?—”
“Your sweater and jeans are of high quality, but they’re also basic,” he goes on, words rolling off his tongue like they require little thought. Easy. Too easy. “You don’t buy cashmere as a treat or to show off, you buy it because it’s good quality and practical.That’s learned behavior, not an impulse for a young woman who’s just come into money.”
He pauses half a second, just long enough to give me the chance to argue. I don’t.
“When they brought you to the compound, you were fully dressed but free of makeup, even though it was a Friday night when they took you. You don’t have fake eyelashes or lip filler, no piercings, not even your ears, so… You are a serious tomboy. You enjoy dance for the athleticism and the rush, not because you grew up dreaming of tutus. That came naturally because you weren’t raised by your mother, you were raised by a wealthy father… And not a loving one.”
His last sentence is as good as a hand around my neck, prodding bruises Sawyer caused only hours ago—but that feel as if they’ve been there since birth.
He waits. Not because he’s done, but because… He’s sparing me?Hintingat what he views as a deep, dark secret—a childhoodwithout love, without care, without whatever it is that makes a person whole.
It’s very dramatic. Yet I don’t ask for him to go on, keep guessing, tell me more, tell me how heknows, what parts of me are so defective that they oozemy Daddy is meanenergy…
Truly, I don’t want to know.
“Which part are you most confident about?” I ask, my voice so cold it overcompensates for the unease in my gut, making me sound guarded.
I hold my breath and pray he says something wrong, though I don’t know what. He wasn’t lying when he said he was good at this.
I grew up a tomboy. I was raised by my father. I’ve only ever known to dress for practicality, and while I don’t actually have a love for dance, I have a deep love and appreciation for my body and the things it can accomplish. No tutus.
“Your mother,” he says, his voice light like he’s treading carefully. “She wasn’t around. You didn’t tense when I brought her up, so I don’t get the sense that you’re sad or defensive about it. She’s not dead. She just left.”
“Wrong,” I say, my voice stronger than it should be. He’s right. I should feel more. “She’s dead… But I was very young. I don’t know how to be sad for someone I never knew.”
“And you believe something is wrong with that. Otherwise you wouldn’t be trying to explain it to me.”
My eyes close.
“I think?—”
“Stop.” My shoulders lift at the sound of his voice, muscles coiling like I’m bracing for the next blow. “You made your point…”
“So… Did I win?” he asks. He doesn’t sound smug. It’s scary how difficult it is to pin his emotions, histrueemotions, not just what he shows. I don’t like him analyzing me like this when I can’t see what’s inside his head.
I’m supposed to be learning my enemy. After this conversation, it feels like he’s the only one close to accomplishing that task.
