Page 60 of 10 Days to Surrender

“I said I’m fine.”

“You’re stubborn, is what you are.”

“Takes one to know one.”

But I still shift uncomfortably. Turns out a thin, silk bathrobe is not ideal attire for crouching in dank cellars. Who knew? I’ve never felt more exposed.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I once wore a basically invisible bikini to drive a man I knew a little bit crazy. That involved a pretty fair amount of exposure in its own right.

The memories crop up, bit by bit, and my internal heat goes up a degree for each one. On the plus side, I’m no longer quite so cold. On the downside, I’m now much, much more turned on than I was before.

Problematic.

“Okay, new pastime for our indefinite imprisonment.” I clap once, the sound swallowed by musty air. “Let’s play Two Truths and a Lie.”

“Are we on an elementary school playground?” he drawls.

“Actually, we’re stuck in a cellar, in case you hadn’t noticed. And if I have to sit here and listen to you breathe for the next six hours, I might go cuckoo. Just indulge me. Please.”

Sasha sighs. His flashlight-cast shadow rears against the opposite wall. “You’ve lost your mind.”

“And you’ve lost the ability to say no. I’ll start.” I shift on the cold concrete, the robe riding up my thighs. “One: I set my seventh grade science fair project on fire to avoid presenting. Two: My first kiss was in a jump castle. Three: I used to steal my mom’sVoguemagazines to sketch wedding dresses in the margins.”

“The science fair,” Sasha decides immediately.

“Wrong.” I bite my lip to keep from smirking. “Mrs. Townsend’s classroom probably still smells like burnt poster board.”

His eyes narrow. “The wedding dresses, then?”

“Not that, either. Mom thought the pages were haunted,” I admit. “Dozens of disembodied gowns floating in her perfume ads.”

“A jump castle, then.” Sasha’s scoff warms my neck. “How romantic.”

“‘Stupid’ is a better word. Your turn, tough guy.”

He leans back, muscles flexing. “One: I killed my first man at fifteen. Two: I once nursed a stray puppy back to health. Three:When I was fourteen, I stole my father’s vintage Lada and drove it into the Neva River.”

I study his face for a minute. “The puppy’s a lie.”

His smirk glints in the dying flashlight beam. “What gave it away?”

“The part where you’re not secretly a Disney princess.”

“Pity. I’d look good in a ballgown.”

My turn again.I tuck hair behind my ear, pulse thrumming where my thigh touches his. “One: My college boyfriend proposed with a Ring Pop at a Waffle House. Two: I tried dating other men while I was pregnant, just to prove I could move on. Three: I’ve never been in love before you.”

Sasha’s flashlight sputters. His voice is a strained croak. “The Ring Pop.”

“No,” I say sadly, confirming what he already knew. “French guys just don’t do it for me.”

“Is that the only reason, Ariel?”

We’re working with the barest of gleams now. It’s just enough to see his outline in this windowless cellar and no more than that. “No. It’s not. I couldn’t move on because, even when I hated you, even when I cursed your name… I still missed you, Sasha.”

He swallows and nods. “My turn again, right?”

My throat feels too tight to answer, so I just nod right back.

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