Page 218 of The Liar's Reckoning

“I can’t promise he won’t try to bribe you to stay away from me again.”

“I can’t promise I won’t hear him out.”

“You should,” he says. “Or you could come with me.”

I laugh mirthlessly. “No fucking way.”

“One of these days, then.”

“Yeah, okay, Senator. I’m sure he’ll love it when I walk up to his door, and some dude with a camera sells the picture of that to the news.”

“Maybe not at his New York place, but the cabin in the Catskills? No one knows about that.”

“You have a—? Never mind.”

“The only other thing you might not know about is the yacht.”

“Of course there’s a yacht. Seems so obvious in retrospect.”

“Lots of things do,” Graham says, sighing against my temple as he rests his head.

“So you think all of a sudden this disowner of his children and pillar of the Catholic community is going to invite me along for your next ski trip?”

“If you can still manage to love me, I think anything’s possible.”

“I’m a moron. Your dad’s way smarter than me.”

“You’re a fucking saint. And I love you, too.”

“Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. Literally nothingyou’ve said or anything that’s happened tonight has convinced me to stay in New York. I actually really want to leave.”

Graham sighs again. “Why? Haven’t you heard what people are like in Florida?”

“They’re mostly from here?”

“No…”

“Most of the ones I’ve met are. And if you’re worried about me being washed away in a hurricane, I have a plan.”

“You don’t think Trixie would like a place in Connecticut?”

I laugh. “No. She gets cold easy. Also, please stop. You’re making me picture things.”

“I want you to picture things. You said you didn’t want to be a shitty boyfriend? Manifest being a better one and trust me.”

That strikes a chord, but I feel compelled to ask, “We’re boyfriends now? That’s bold. You’re supposed to ask first.”

He runs a hand over all the hickeys I left on him. “You want me to say I got these from a hook up that got out of hand?”

I pinch his belly, and his abs clench. Then he laughs. “That’s what I thought. You’re so transparent.”

“You didn’t use to think that,” I mumble.

“I hate to tell you this, but you’ve showed your hand. More than once.”

“We’ll see what tune you’re singing if you actually have this conversation with your father. Until then, I advise humility.”

“You’re right to be skeptical,” he says. “I had a chance to tell him today, and I chickened out, but I feel different about it now.”

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