Page 59 of Break Me Beautifully

That's all that's passed since Marshall revealed the lie he trapped me in. That moment calcified my heart. It feels like it happened ages ago. How can things change so fast?

He's dressed just as he was at the gallery, in a thick jacket and straight pants. He's motionless as an iced lake, but I'm sure he's fighting the constant pull that draws us together. I know he feels it becauseIfeel it. I plant my shoes on the sidewalk firmly, refusing to be lured back into his web. I haven't forgiven my own sister yet, how can I forgive him?

His hands are buried in his jacket pockets, I wonder if he's layering every precaution to keep himself from snatching me up. His attention drops to my shoulder bag. "That's a relief."

"What, this?" I hug it closer. "Katy gave it back to me."

"That means Min passed it on to the police. I told her to, I was worried your sketchbook would get lost in the chaos."

I balk, looking from him, to my bag, then back again. "You're the reason this is safe?"

"Of course. I know how important it is to you."

White-hot anger spirals through me. "You know how important it is?You know?"Ripping my bag off my arm, I yank out the sketchbook and shake it in his face. "You think I believe you actuallycareabout what matters to me? After everything you put me through, all your lies, you expect me to believe that? To believe anything?"

"Leona—"

I can't stop myself. No longer able to contain it, all the hurt inside of me boils up and out through my arms, and I throw the sketchbook into his chest. "How could you do this to me?" I scream, tears forming but not falling yet. Fury holds them back even as my composure crumbles. "Why, after everything we did, everything we said, how could you lie to my face?"

Marshall doesn't react. The book bounces off of him, spreading across the sidewalk, pages fluttering in the winter wind. Each passion-filled scribble is exposed before our eyes.

He crouches, and I think he's going to pick it up. He leaves the book where it is. There's something pinched in his fingers, something small and soft and red as blood. "It's funny," he says dryly, turning the rose petal, "when we first met, you taught me not everything is as broken as it seems. Sometimes it transforms, becomes something different, something special." His expression burns with multiple emotions: torment, relief, desire. He's a multifaceted diamond waiting for me to turn him in whatever direction I choose to find the best angle for the light to strike.

My eyes ache from not blinking. I don't dare break our stare, because I know I'll spin without control through my memories, swimming until I'm back in the past with the sun overhead and the scent of roses in my nose. The moment before Marshall Klintock stole me away. A time where I saw him as darkly beautiful, intriguing, a mystery to solve. I didn't know what he'd do to me. "Why," I croak.

"She showed me your art," he whispers, looking from me to my sketchbook. "Sent me the link to your private portfolio online. Your sister meant no harm. She was lost, seeking a way to save her brother."

"He isn't saved," I argue, "he's still in a cell."

"Yes. But Bradford will be locked away, too."

"Revenge gets us nothing."

"It gives us a chance," he says, his voice gritty, raw. It's a wonder he doesn't crush the rose petal. It reminds me how gentle he can be when he desires. "Bradford will strike a deal for a lesser sentence. I know the man, he's all about saving his skin. Your brother's lawyer can work their magic, make Bradford admit he set Willbur up and get his name cleared. There are layers to our world, Leona."

"To my world, or yours?" Bending down, I cradle my sketchbook. There's dirt on the pages; I dust it off carefully. "You used me. You broke my heart. It didn't have to be this way. We could have ... you and me ..." I can't finish.

"We still can," he says, but he doesn't reach for me. He just holds the petal, searching my face for something that says I understand. The problem is I do understand. That makes it worse. "Leona, I don't want to lose you."

"You already have," I whisper. A tear drops onto the page, smearing my elegant pencil lines. I scrub my face hard to wipe the evidence away but it doesn't help. "How can I ever trust you after what you did?"

"Because I did it for you!" he cries, and still, he doesn't advance on me. I marvel at whatever is holding him back. The man I know would never stop himself from touching me. "I never planned to fall for you. That first night in my place, I came back and found you sleeping. You looked so vulnerable, innocent. It reminded me of ..." He steadies himself, daring me to react to his moment of vulnerability. "You reminded me of those poor dogs. The idea of introducing you to Bradford Mink, it just, it just messed me up. I paced my living room, threw off my shirt, but I couldn't feel comfortable inside my own skin! I didn't want to put you in danger, didn't want to lie to you! I called your sister immediately and told her I wanted to back out. She assured me you'd feelrelief,more than that,joywhen the truth of our scheme was revealed to you!"

Thinking back to that night, how I'd peeked at him through the bedroom door, I shiver. "You tried to end the plan?"

"Yes. I did. Your sister was insistent."

That makes me smile. "That's her alright."

"Each time I thought I was doing the right thing, I'd misstep. Your sister did her best to remind us both that getting close to you was insanity. And when you told me you loved me, when you had me pick up a paintbrush again, I almost gave in and spilled the entire scheme. In the end I bit my tongue, convinced your life would be in danger, Leona."

"I could have kept the plan a secret."

"No, you couldn't. Beyond that, do you think you would have gone through with it? You would’ve bailed, and you would have had every right to. But Bradford, he would have been suspicious. If you ran, you were dead. Probably me, too."

I wish I could be furious at his read of me. Deep down I know he's right. I was so upset when Bradford revealed the money laundering setup that Iwason the verge of bolting. The clear threat from him had stopped me in my tracks.

"My sister," I say, watching his face closely. "She said you did this to get information about who killed your father."

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