Page 170 of False God

I study it closely, the colorful, slightly ridiculous drawings oddly soothing.

There’s a knock on the door.

“One minute!” I call out, then sip some champagne.

Damn it. I was hoping for longer solitude.

“Can I come in?”

Charlie.

I choke a little, bubbles burning my throat. I don’t want him to think I’m hiding in here—even though that’s pretty much exactly what I’m doing—so I step forward and flick the lock open.

He enters a second later, lifting one eyebrow when he spots me standing with a glass of champagne, staring at the wall. I didn’t have enough time to look busy doing anything else, not that there are many options. I could have pretended to wash my hands, I guess.

I hear the lock click back into place before he walks toward me, and my pulse stutters like a pair of paddles just shocked my chest.

“Are you okay?” he asks, stopping a couple of feet away.

“Yep. I just needed a minute.”

“Nine.”

“What?”

One corner of his mouth curls up in the suggestion of a smile that I used to find infuriating and now consider charming. “You’ve been gone for nine minutes.”

“That’s … specific.” I keep my tone light, but there’s a fresh heaviness in my heart.

He didn’t just notice I was gone.He counted the minutes I was missing.

I swallow, forcibly clearing the lump that’s formed in my throat. “I thought you were exaggerating … about the whole duke thing.”

“I know.” Charlie shoves his hands into his pockets. “It’s hard to … explain.”

“Especially to an American, right?”

He frowns. “I don’t care what color your passport is, Lili.”

I glance at the wallpaper again, tracing the curve of the river with my pointer finger. “Your grandmother is feisty. Especially for a woman who just got out of the hospital.”

Charlie sighs. “She told you?”

“Chloe did actually. But the better question is, why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know. Things between us were getting …”

“Stale?” I supply. “Predictable? Passé?”

I’m proud of how steady my voice sounds.

I have a hundred percent survival rate in life so far. I’ll make it through this too.

“No.No, Lili. It was … intense, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I had to leave, and I used it as a solution. Or an excuse. I’m used to dealing with things on my own. I’m sorry. I should have told you the truth.”

“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. You don’t owe me explanations.”

Rather than relieved, he looks angry. “The fuck I don’t.”

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