Page 54 of Reveal

His chuckle rumbles through the silence, and it takes everything I have not to shush him to be quieter. “Relax. I’m not worried about talking an officer or two into letting us off with a warning. Or offering a subtle bribe. Besides, what we’re doing is the least of their problems.”

“It’s ironic that I’m this straitlaced, isn’t it?” I laugh. “Most people would think it’d be the other way around—me the rule breaker and you the rule follower.”

“Seriously. How did I not know this about you? That you are so scared of getting in trouble.”

I glance back at him and give a resigned shrug. “Because if I get in trouble, the fallout can have dire consequences.”

“We’ll be fine. I promise you. But I have a feeling this need to follow rules and this fear of getting in trouble started way before now.”

“You don’t get it because you’re you.”

“What?” he says through a laugh. “That makes no sense.”

“Of course it doesn’t . . . but just like you breaking in here—how you don’t worry because you know a cop would see your expensive clothes and might know of you or your reputation and let you off with a warning—they’d never do that to me. People see me—a woman in the skimpy outfit at work or the person who runs Wicked Ways—and . . . and they assume what they want about me. Nothing I say or do can change their opinions.”

He leans forward and presses a kiss to the back of my neck, his lips moving against my skin when he speaks. “Fuck their opinions. I’m glad I get to see the woman no one else gets to see.” He pulls me back so his arm is around my shoulder and my head rests on his chest. He murmurs against my scalp, “Relax, Vaughn. We’re going to be just fine.”

His words soak in, and I know he means right now in our trespassing and also in the greater scheme of things.

I hope he’s right.

We sit in comfortable silence for a bit with the sounds of crickets and the trees rustling in the light breeze coming in off the river. This feels so normal. So right. It makes me afraid to leave this platform, because I don’t want that to change.

“When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

His question startles me and then makes me smile as the faint memories of my mom ghost through my mind. “A mom.”

“A mom?”

“Mmm. I wanted to be just like my mom. She was my world.”

“What was she like?”

“Vibrant. Fun. She always made you feel like you were the most special person in the room so that when she turned to pay attention to someone else, you were almost jealous over it.”

“Is it hard to remember her?” Another kiss to my head. A hand running up and down my arm.

“Yes. It’s been so long that I’m not sure if what I remember are truly memories or just ones I pieced together from pictures and created myself. But I remember her voice clear as day. How she used to sing silly songs to us when we were tucked in her bed. Her family was super formal, and then there was her—this wildflower among all the perfectly pruned roses.”

“I bet they hated that.”

“Probably.” I smile at the memories that hit me, one after another, and am grateful that he allows me the silence to just close my eyes and think of her. “What about you? Tell me about your parents.”

“Nothing much to tell other than what you already know.”

“Where is your dad? What does he do?”

“He’s down in Palm Beach, Florida. He’s an angel investor in companies.” He sighs. “I don’t know—we’re not really that close. After my mom took him to the proverbial cleaners in their divorce, he bailed. I spent vacations and summers with him . . . and whenever my mom deemed that she needed less responsibility, I guess.”

“That must have been hard.”

“It’s all I’ve ever known. Him gone and her falling in love, then out of love, and then the drama of a divorce. The woe is me as she collects another hefty check in her divorce settlement, only for her to do it all over again.”

“Were any of your stepdads nice to you?”

“They all were nice to me. More tolerant than nice, really,” he says, so matter-of-fact, and my heart breaks for the little boy who I can imagine was always trying to fit in an ever-changing landscape. “But they were moguls in their own minds. One owned some restaurants, one was a developer, like I said. One was a capital investor, and one was connected to the Vanderbilts somehow. None of them had time for a son.”

“I’m sorry.”