Page 158 of False God

And … I want Charlie’s sister to like me. I’m not above bribery.

“Really?” She appears stunned, all the snark suddenly absent.

“Really.”

“Cool, thanks,” Blythe says, then disappears down the hallway.

“That was a really warm welcome—for her,” Charlie tells me.

We’re still holding hands.

I laugh as he tugs me upstairs. “I’m honored.”

A few minutes later, he leads me into his bedroom.

An ornate fireplace takes up most of one wall. A green velvet chaise lounge is angled in one corner. A four-poster bed with a massive matching chest of drawers takes up most of the rest of the space.

It’s cozier than the rest of the house. It smells like him. A pair of running shoes is tossed in the corner. The bag he brought to Wales and France hangs off the closet’s doorknob.Middlemarchsits on a side table, beside a clock, a bookmark stuck about halfway through.

I stare at it. Then walk over and pick the book up. “You’re reading it?”

I didn’t feel like I could ask him about it after snooping around. But it’s sitting out in plain sight.

“Yeah. It’s good.”

“Would you tell me if you hated it?”

“Yes.”

“Because you only care about two opinions?”

“No. Because I wouldn’t lie to you.”

I swallow, flipping through the first few pages. The lines blur, and it’s not only because of my dyslexia.

“It’s really long though. Been reading it for weeks, and I’m not even halfway done.”

“The audiobook was thirty-five hours.” I keep flipping pages, deliberating. “I listen to a lot of audiobooks … because I have dyslexia.”

I hear his steps as he approaches me, but I keep my eyes on the book.

“Lili.”

“Huh?”

“Lili.” He grasps my chin, tilting my face toward his. “I’ve heard of it. What exactly does it mean?”

“It’s a reading disability. I have a bad case of it. Writing and spelling can be challenging, but reading is the worst. Sometimes, it looks like the words are swimming off the page. Or scrambled, so I have to look for a long time for anything to rearrange and make sense. I got diagnosed when I was pretty young and had special accommodations in school. But it was still … hard. I’d feel stupid that my brain worked differently. Kit did well in school, even though he fucked around most of the time, and Bash got straight A’s so easily. My parents probably paid my way into college—both of them. And I’ve figured out ways to deal with it the best I can. But there are still times when … it’s why I wanted you to tell me what to order. Why I didn’t read your text. Most people who know call or send me voice messages.” I exhale. “You don’t have to say anything. I just … I wanted to tell you.”

His thumb moves back and forth against my chin. “I’m glad you did. You are the smartest, most driven, most creative, most passionate person I’ve ever met, Elizabeth Kensington. And knowing everything you’ve overcome … it just impresses me more.”

If I wasn’t already in love with him, I’m pretty sure that earnest response would have done the trick.

“Not compared to?—”

“Compared to anyone,” he says fiercely. “Everyone. I believe that. But you have to too.”

“I’m trying to.”

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