Page 114 of Pretty Little Threats

A giant smile is on his face, one I’ve never seen before. Bile rises in my throat and doubt after doubt swirls in mymind. Is Dare still playing games with me? The way he’s grinning right now is so affectionate. So full of love, and it’s all directed at those stupid messages.

It probably was dumb to forget myself, but I really thought we were setting aside our differences. I thought he was serious about me. Maybe I was wrong. I foolishly let myself fall for the man who swore he hated me.

He sees me awake, and his smile changes, but it’s nothing like the one he wore seconds ago. This smile is guarded. “How was your nap?”

“Good,” I say, eyeing the phone. “Who’s that?”

The grin falls away and his eyebrows draw down ever so slightly. “No one,” he lies, locking the device and putting it on the table. Water drips down his abs, but I’m too uneasy to appreciate his body. Dare climbs onto the bed, oblivious to my inner turmoil, and straddles my hips.

He’s hard as a rock.

Because of me or because of the text?

“You’re trapped, Rose,” he whispers, pinning my hands above my head.

Before, I would have embraced the role of his submissive wife, but right now, I can’t even bring myself to look him in the eye. My chest aches so hard, I’m scared it might crack open.

Dare searches my face. “What’s wrong?”

I gave him so much power. I let him in, and now he can pick me apart. One squeeze of his hand and my heart could be crushed. What if it’s not what I think it is, though? What if it’s nothing and he really is the man I’ve gotten to know over the past weeks?

Fairy tales aren’t real, Rosalynn. There is no happily ever after in real life.

My dad’s words slice through my mind, shredding thelast of my sanity. My throat constricts and my stomach lurches. It’s been years since anxiety has made me sick, but I recognize all the signs. Pounding pulse. Heaving chest. Tight throat. Blood simmering in my veins.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I tell him.

Dare slips off of me, and I roll off the bed, racing to the bathroom and slamming the door. I don’t hear it shut because I barely make it to the toilet before I lose the contents of my stomach. A sob rips free from my throat and my gut heaves again.

Strong hands wrap around my hair and hold it back.

Another cruel kindness.

Another game?

Or is it real?

My head is so fucked, I can’t tell the difference, but I’m not stupid enough to forget that Dare has the power to destroy me. He outmaneuvered me, and I was stupid.

These past months, I’ve proved my dad right about one thing—emotions do make you weak. They make you vulnerable, easy to hurt. If I hadn’t been so desperate for attention, I could have saved myself the embarrassment of almost telling Dare that I love him and the pain of realizing this marriage might’ve been my only shot at love, because whenever this is said and done, I won’t try again.

“Maybe we should head home,” Dare murmurs, holding my hair as I lose myself in a spiral of doubt.

What is home?

thirty-five

ROSE

The trip homeis filled with tense silence. What started off as a fun vacation ends in a tornado of confusion and doubt. Dare stares out the airplane window, a notch between his eyebrows. Brooding, for lack of a better word. My thoughts race, and I’m forced to try different breathing techniques to keep from spiraling.

Maybe it’s nothing.

Maybe he was shocked that you were going to say the big words.

Maybe he has no heart and you’ve been stupid.

He didn’t tell you who the texts were from, and he instantly got defensive when you asked. That’s a warning sign.

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