Page 18 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

The door is closed. Warm light spills beneath it in a thin gold line.

I open it quietly.

She’s already in bed, curled on her side, facing the windows, blonde hair spread across the pillow in soft disorder. She is trying to disappear into my bed and failing completely.

She breathes like someone performing sleep badly.

I move through the room, keeping distance, and go into the bathroom. Cold water. Darkness. By the time I come back out, she hasn’t moved.

I cross to my side of the bed.

The mattress shifts beneath my weight, and the space between us becomes the most deliberate thing in the room.

Then I decide to say it. “You grind your teeth.”

“What?” she says, offended enough to prove my point.

“Not badly. Just when you’re stressed.”

“You’ve known me for less than twelve hours.”

“And?”

She gives up on pretending to sleep and rolls onto her back, still leaving the center of the bed untouched.

“You’re very observant.”

“It’s useful.”

Her attention shifts to the nightstand.

“You read Robert Moses before bed?”

I glance toward the book. “You know who Robert Moses is?”

“I’m an interior designer, not illiterate.”

That one nearly gets me.

“That sounded offended.”

“It was.”

A pause.

“No. I don’t read it before bed.”

“That’s somehow worse.”

There is a sharp edge beneath the exhaustion. Anger is doing more than keeping her upright. It is keeping her honest.

“You know what’s strange?” she asks.

“What?”

She stares up at the ceiling. “I almost wish you were awful.”

I understand exactly what she means. “That would make this easier.”