Page 117 of What's Left of Us

“I don’t want you to lie to me,” I say after taking a deep breath that eases the tightness that was squeezing my lungs. “I don’t want us to lie to one another.”

Her frown only deepens. “I don’t want you to lie to me either.” She stares at me. “So, is there anythingyouwant to share since we’re being open right now?”

I don’t think about her question. Instead, I pose my own. “Why didn’t you tell me you hated carnations?”

Georgia gapes. “That’s not important right now, Lincoln.”

Maybe she’s right.

She peels her coat off and drapes it over the side of the couch. When she walks over to me, she cups my face and tilts my head to meet her eyes. “You told me you loved me. Did you mean that?”

I let her hold my gaze. “You know I do.”

The pad of her thumb brushes over my bottom lip. “I may not know much, but I know that people don’t lie to those they love.”

My eyes skate over her features as she releases my lip and steps back. “You never told me you loved me, Georgia.”

Her tongue lazily drags across her bottom lip before she dips her head. “That’s because I need to trust you first.”

I watch her walk out of the room, staring at her back as she disappears into the bathroom.

I hear her phone go off in the pocket of her jacket, and I debate on letting it stay there. But fate tests me when I hear anotherdingcome from the fabric, and temptation has me reaching inside the coat to get it.

Unknown:If that’s what you want, I’ll help

Unknown:For a price

She must have deleted the thread leading up to the replies because there’s none above the two new messages.

I memorize the number and tuck her phone away where I found it.

That night when we go to bed, she’s still awake when I crawl into the spot beside her. It’s only then she says, “Carnations were my mother’s funeral flowers. They’re beautiful, but they remind me of death.”

With that, she turns onto her side, turns the light off, and gives me her back.

When I ask someone at work to track the phone number the next day, it comes back to an untraceable burner.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Georgia/ Four Years Ago

It’s been along time since I’ve seen the boy who looks like a younger version of his father. Luca Carbone has grown into his features since the last time I saw him, gotten taller and more put-together. Gone is the baby fat he used to have, and in its place is a sculpted jawline. His dark hair is short, but the ends curl just enough to tease his forehead, and his green eyes are guilty from roaming over me just like he did with other girls whenever we’d be forced together at those boring events our families went to.

I’m almost done sweeping the floor at Turning Pages bookstore when he saunters through the pile of dust and pine needles with his polished Tom Ford shoes. “Fancy seeing you here,” is how he greets me, looking completely out of place in business slacks and a button-down that probably cost more than my car payment.

I glare at the mess he made. “Funny. I was going to say the same to you. I didn’t know you could read.”

One of Luca’s eyebrows pops up when I bat him with the broom to get away from the pile he’s spreading everywhere. “Nobody told me how feisty you are. We could have had a lot of fun together, you and I. Imagine all those dry events we were dragged to that could have been different if you didn’t avoid me.”

Avoid him? “I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“You never spoke to me.”

Is he forgetting that he was always surrounded by other people? “I never had a reason to. And you had plenty of other women to make the time fly faster.”

“Were you jealous, Little Del Rossi?”

I scowl. “You wish.”

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