Page 89 of Burning Daylight
He definitely would.
“Why would he want to kill you?” I ask.
“Come on, Princess. You know why.”
His jaw tics.
“Everything I said to you has been true,” he rushes out. “I have a sister, and she depends on me. She’s all I have in the world, and there are things I need to do to make sure she’s taken care of.”
My mind replays the moment I saw him tonight. How unsurprised he was that I was here. How he knew about the party beforehand. Still, for some reason, I don’t think he’s lying. The mention of his sister has my anger thawing, just a little.
I tilt my head. “When did you find out who I was?”
He grimaces, shoulders slumping. “My mother recognized you.”
“You mean the mother who’s supposed to be dead, too?” I snip. “No wonder she hated me on sight.”
He cuts me a pleading look, like he’s desperate for me to understand.
“So, it was before you saw me at the coffee shop again.”
I’m not sure why that cuts worse than if he knew the whole time, but it does.
His jaw tenses again, and he gives a curt nod.
“Why do all that? Why continue letting me think this could be some—that we could be friends?”
“Because I wanted to know you,” he replies simply. “I still want to know you.”
My chest cramps, and I inhale a shaky breath.
“That’s not very fair,” I say.
He straightens and steps toward me. “I didn’t plan for any of this.”
“Like that matters.” I move back until I hit the opposite side of the balcony. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“But I am.”
Another step.
My hands press against the stone behind me like I can meld into the structure if I try hard enough.
“Why can’t we be friends?” he murmurs, his eyes searching mine. “Why does this have to change anything?”
“Uh, I don’t know, maybe because you think my dad is some mass murderer?” I say.
His eyes soften like he pitiesme.
“I don’t give a fuck about that,” he claims, his voice strong and sure. “Ionlygive a fuck about you.”
“Right.” I huff. “That why you put on such a good show earlier for my family?”
Something dark flashes over his face like he hates what he’s done.
“If you were anyone else,” I murmur, looking at the ground.
“Well, I’m not,” he retorts, his arms rising until his hands rest on the pillar on either side of my head. “Who cares?”
