Page 84 of Pretty Little Threats

He shrugs. “Something about the way she holds herself. Like she’s spent years catering to other people’s needs and ignoring her own, but that isn’t sustainable. Eventually, she’ll crack, and when she does, when she forgets the expectations of others, that’s when she’ll really shine.”

My breath catching, I glance away. How is he so discerning? Or is it a matter of simply paying attention? “That’s a lot of assumptions for a simple drawing.”

“I don’t think it’s simple at all.” Dare picks up his water. “If you ever listen to anything I say, I hope it’s this: Don’t minimize your art. It’s really good, Rose.”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nod. “Thank you.”

The heartbeat of New York City—the low and constantbuzz of traffic and voices—fills the stark silence stretching between us. I don’t know what to say when I’m not trying to pick a fight. A real conversation with Dare is uncharted territory, and I have no plan. I furrow my brow. Confused.

What is this?

Dare exhales. “I’ve never been good at drawing or anything creative, but I do like boxing.”

Over the many months I had Orion, my PI, following him, I learned as much. I also know that he’s a film buff. I know he likes to work out in the morning rather than at night. I know he’s friends with Crue Rollins. I know a lot of things. What I don’t know is why he’s telling me about himself.

“What are you doing?” I ask as the food arrives. “Thank you,” I tell the server before giving Dare an expectant look.

Dare breaks apart his wooden chopsticks. “Making conversation.”

“Obviously, but why?”

“Not everything is a power play.”

A trickle of unease slithers down my spine. “Says the man extorting me.”

He huffs in frustration and stabs his chopsticks into his dish. “Can you just relax and try to act human?”

I bristle. More than a few tabloids have accused me of being Dad’s doll. Plastic and fake. Only there to look pretty. No real thoughts or emotions. A line cuts across my forehead before I can hide the hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he says, surprising me yet again. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Don’t be sorry.” I shrug. “That’s what you think of me, isn’t it?”

Both of us have been put in a box. Dare, the vicious, murderous beast, and Rose, a pretty princess that’s merelya prop. It’s possible we have more in common than I care to admit. I don’t want to feel sorry for him.

He considers me, his dark brown eyes cutting me to my core. “I think you haven’t been given a chance to be your own person.”

My stomach flutters at the spark of worry in his eyes. I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels like, for once, he’s not seeing me as the enemy he married but as the wife he wants to protect. Maybe that’s his intention.

Either way, there’s no harm in telling him exactly who I am.

“Dad had me attending board meetings at thirteen.” I sip on a spoonful of broth. “I’m sure you know the life. People like us don’t get to have sleepovers or go to fairs. We grow up learning the business, so when it’s our time to take over, we have enough experience.”

Dare shakes his head. “My childhood wasn’t like that.”

Something heavy settles against my chest. “Oh?”

“I didn’t step foot in a board room until I took over the company. Actually, until the day my parents were murdered, I swore I’d never be a part of it.” Dare’s eyes flicker with sorrow so deep, it steals my breath. “When they were killed, I had no choice. I had a few advisors helping me find my way as a new CEO, but there was no one I trusted to run the business more than me.” Those eyes stray to meet mine. “And when the whole world accuses you of being a monster, what’s to stop you from becoming one?”

“So, you became who they wanted you to be?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Did you become who your father wanted you to be?”

Regret slithers through me, and I avert my gaze because the answer is a wholehearted yes. It hadn’t even crossed mymind to do something different. Part of me feels like I let myself down. “Maybe. But I also learned a lot.”

Dare doesn’t respond.

Heat blooms across my cheeks. Even I know it sounds pathetic, but I can’t admit the truth aloud.

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