Page 125 of Ruin Me With Lies
He sighs.“It is.”
This is the beauty of getting to know someone on a personal level.Because I truly didn’t think there was anything Idon’tknow about this man.Now color me surprised.“Do the premonitions happen once or do they repeat?”
“Recurring.Over and over until they finally come true,” he says.“That’s why I sleep in short bursts.Easier than being tortured for a full eight hours.”
“And that explains your migraines.”
“Probably.”He tugs idly at the little bow strings on the bust of my dress.“Tell me something only a few people know about you.”
So much.“I hate living and fantasize about death a lot.”
A dry chuckle rattles in his chest.“That’s a secret to no one, Delilah.”
I roll my eyes.“Well, there’s nothing else.”
“Sure there isn’t,” he mutters, in that tone that says he’ll believe it when hell freezes over.Then in a softer tone, curious but not unkind, he asks, “Why do you hate living?”
“I…” A jagged breath leaves me, bloated with emotions I normally keep locked inside.“I don’t like the life I was born into.The normalcy I was denied.The expectations of me...Never alone, but still lonely.”The laugh that slips out of me is hollow.“There’s a lot…a lot to hate about living this life.”
He rubs my arm, grounding me.“If you could go back in time and choose the life you want, what would it be?”
It takes me mere seconds to think about it.“I’d be born into a normal, middle-income family.With multiple siblings—sisters, of course.I’d go to public school and make out with jocks under the bleachers, make dumb mistakes and worse decisions.Go to college, play beer pong, skip class, make out with a hot teacher.Take spring break trips to the tropics with friends and do stupid, drunken shit.Graduate.Work toward becoming an engineer.Do something artistic on the side.Just…be a normal girl living a normal life.”
“Normal is overrated.”He traces his thumb along the underside of my bottom lip.“Average people are given average lives.Extraordinary people are given extraordinary lives.And you, my little liar, are anything but fucking average.”He leans in, close enough that only a thread of air separates our lips.“Breathe on me, beautiful.”
Jesus, I’m a melted puddle.
Parting my lips, I breathe across his.
“Fuck,” he whispers.“Who sent you?”
“I came on my own,” I exhale, warmth coating his lips.
“Tell me,” he demands in earnest.“Tell me why.”
For you.
As it tends to do in the most inconvenient of times, his phone rings.
“Maybe I should confiscateyourphone,” I grumble.
With a frustrated groan, he gets up and answers, disappearing from the room.
Left alone, aroused and repressed and seriously on edge, I flop back against the couch and prop my feet up.This is one sumptuously comfortable couch.Massive and cloudy, it swallows me whole.
“You have the best couches,” I say when Stefano returns a few minutes later.“Who builds them for you?”
“A guy,” is all he offers.
“Gate-keep much?”
“Black Gold’s going to be overflowing tonight because of the storm, and I’m staying in,” he tells me.“So those idiots are going to be calling me for everything.”He drops onto the couch beside me, and I wait for him to pull me back into him, but he crosses his arms behind his head instead.“Need to get in a quick nap.Phone’s on DND for an hour.Wake me up in thirty.”
Feeling bereft of his touch, I ask, “You’re napping here?”
He nods, then jerks his chin toward a built-in compartment on the left.“You’ll find Bluetooth earphones, tablets, and remotes in there.The earphones are already synced to the TV, if you’re a TV person.”
“I’m not.”I lift a brow.“Myphonewould be better.”
