Page 31 of Dark Soul

“Not ridiculous at all,” Dark said, taking a bite out of his own slice. “But it is interesting. Most people in your place would savor these luxuries. I imagine it’s one of the perks of your job. And yet, you don’t seem impressed.”

Alexia shrugged. “I’m impressed by other things.”

And though he had no right to them, he found himself wanting to know about those things.

“Like what?”

“People who work to make their world a better place.”

Her answer took the wind out of his sails.

He’d tried to be that man, once—the kind of man who strove to make a positive impact on the world and the people around him.

Then Syria happened.

And now, he was so far from that. Like day and night.

He heard Thorne’s voice in his head.

You’re a blunt instrument.

It was a good reminder that he shouldn’t get close to her, no matter what, but Alexia was looking at him like … like he might still be that person. And he realized her impression of him was colored by the risk he’d taken to save the boy. She didn’t know how calculated that risk had been.

She didn’t know he was poison.

“So,” she said. “Tell me a bit more about yourself. What’s it like, to write for television?”

In the days before they’d left for Gstaad, Dark had prepared for precisely this question. They all had. And he’d been trained in the art of deception. He knew how much detail to add to make the lie credible and engaging. But he kept the answer as short as possible, because it felt shitty to lie to her.

As keen an observer as she’d shown herself to be earlier, Alexia didn’t seem aware that he was lying. She listened eagerly and seemed genuinely interested in learning more about him.

The next time he took a bite from his pizza, he tasted chalk—the taste of his deception.

“Are you okay?” Alexia asked.

She seemed concerned for him, which made him feel even worse. Dark shrugged, forgetting his bruised shoulder, then made things worse by wincing.

“You’re hurt,” she said, her green eyes widening.

Damn, those flecks of gold.

Her hand grazed his arm across the table, then pulled back. He felt the loss keenly and steeled himself against it. He couldn’t afford to feel this.

“I'm okay. It’s just a bruise.”

When they finished their pizza, the waiter came around, offering them all the typical Italian desserts, along with brownie and apple pie.

His earlier lies still beat heavy against Dark’s heart. The word no played on his lips, until he saw how Alexia’s eyes shone at the mention of tiramisu.

“Would you like to share something?” he asked.

She nodded, then laughed. “Anything except the apple pie.”

“You don’t like apple pie?”

“I used to make it with my mom,” she said, and a trace of sadness entered her voice. He saw how she took that sadness, controlled it, and put it away. “No apple pie can compare to that one.”

“I know what you mean.”