Page 113 of Pretty Little Threats

“I love the way you make me feel,” she says in recovery. When she looks at me again, her eyes are guarded.

She’s lying. That’s not what she meant. But she’s not willing to admit the truth. And there’s one person to blame for that. The hole in my chest grows until there’s a yawning void.

Clenching my jaw, I hold her gaze until she diverts her attention again. It would be cruel to call her on the lie, and we’re having too much fun together. For one fucking week, I didn’t want to think about Joseph Miller. I wanted Rose tomyself. Pushing her to tell me what she’s not ready to admit will rob me of the chance.

But part of me can’t help wondering if she’ll ever let herself love me after years of being told I’m a monster.

thirty-four

ROSE

A dark andviolent storm overtakes the island. Lightning and thunder and winds so strong, we have to shutter the windows. Just like the change in weather, things are suddenly different after the run-in with Crue. Dare and I can’t seem to resist one another, but something has shifted between us, and I catch the slight changes in Dare.

Occasionally, he clenches his fist to keep from reaching for me, whereas before, he wouldn’t stop himself.

I hate that my near slip is the reason. The trip was going so well, and then I almost told him I loved him, and...he was so mad. I’ve never seen a man be so enraged at the idea of love. It hurts to know that the thought of me loving him pisses him off.

Ever since my almost confession, one I’m certain he understood, he’s retreated. Before then, we’d been living in a bubble where our names didn’t matter and the past didn’t exist. That illusion violently bursts, and there’s no goingback to fantasyland. My stomach aches, mourning the loss of that version of us.

Dare still has the weapon that could send me to prison. He might enjoy my body, but love? Maybe my dad was right. Fairy tales and love—none of it is real. The thought pierces my heart, and I rub at my chest.

Staring at the shadows and light playing across the ceiling of the bedroom while Dare showers, I lie on the bed and wonder what my life would’ve been like if I weren’t Joseph Miller’s daughter. Would love be easier?

It wouldn’t be nearly as complicated as my current situation.

Dare’s phone chirps twice in a row on the nightstand. Then once again. I roll over, glancing at the screen, which displays a preview of the texts.

Unknown

Hey! I miss you!

I wish we could spend the holidays together. Can you sneak away for Christmas?

The last message stabs through my heart.

I love you so much, Dare. When will I see you again?

Jealousy sings through my system.Who the fuck is this?

The phone starts to vibrate with a call from what I assume is the same number. Three texts and a phone call? Whoever this is, they have to know he’s married now, right? Anyone who’s anyone knows who married who, simply because the money follows. The thought of Dare being with anyone else turns my vision red.

I’m going to find out who you are and pay you alittle visit.

Before I talk myself out of it, I grab my phone and take a picture of the number before the call ends, sending it to Orion from my JD Miller & Co email account, intent on figuring out exactly who is sending my husband love notes, so I can hunt them down and introduce myself. Rage swirls in my gut, but until I know who it is and what they mean to Dare, I can’t bring it up.

It could be nothing. Or maybe he’s been playing me for a fool this entire time.

I numbly put the phone back on the nightstand as the shower turns off in the en suite. I lie down, pretending to be asleep. The plush blankets aren’t soft anymore and rub against me like sandpaper. Or perhaps that’s the betrayal, tightening my skin like a harsh sunburn. Nothing but time can soothe the sting.

Maybe it doesn’t mean anything.

Maybe it’s someone he dated before.

Orion had sent a few names of women Dare dated. Honestly, at the time, I didn’t give a crap about who he was dating, but now, I wish I would have spent more time memorizing their names. Orion can help me track the number down. Once I know exactly who is texting him and what, if anything, she means to Dare, I’ll make a plan.

A fragile part of me is desperate for the messages to mean nothing.

Dare’s steps are soft as he exits the bathroom. He stops at the bedside table and grabs his phone. The sound of his camera snapping a picture fills the air, but I keep my breathing even and my eyes closed for a few more seconds. Then, when I hear his fingers tapping on the screen, I peek up at him.

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