Page 195 of Things We Hide from the Light
“You don’t think that’ll get the entire town talking? The whole point of this is to make things look as normal as possible from the outside.”
“What isnormalabout this?” I demanded. “Besides, won’t people start talking about Nolan staying at my place? I mean, they’ll think I’m sleeping with you both. Or that we’re in some weird throuple.”
“Or they’ll think my federally issued protection is staying with me to protect me. Or they’ll think you and I are serious and Nolan wanted to get out of the roach motel.”
Damn it. He’d thought of everything. The sneaky, conniving son of a bitch.
I was impressed.
And terrified.
“I’m not going to become Suzy Homemaker and suddenly learn to cook,” I warned.
“Noted.”
“And you better not use your bathroom floor for a hamper. I saw Mount St. Dirty Clothes the day we brought Piper home.”
“Do I need to get the broccoli out of the freezer?” he asked, rubbing his cheek against the top of my head.
“No. Maybe.”
FORTY
SMILE PRETTY FOR THE CAMERA
Lina
“Ican’t believe you’re making me do this,” Nash said as a makeup artist dabbed powder across his brow. Out of patience, he dodged her hand. “Can we be done? Please?”
I was perched on the counter in his office, enjoying the hell out of his discomfort under the heat of the photographer’s lights.
For the past few days, I’d been the one suffering discomfort, being forced to move in with him…temporarily, I reminded myself. But that meant in the meantime, me, my clothing, my makeup, even my damn houseplant were now living in Nash’s apartment.
For the last forty-eight hours, I’d slept in Nash’s bed, brushed my teeth at his sink, and gotten dressed in his bathroom. Then I’d sat at his table and eaten the breakfasts and dinners he made me.
I drew the line at pooping while he was home. To be safe, I’d temporarily cut back on fiber.
To be honest, minus my fear of sharing a bathroom, the living situation hadn’t beenasweird as I’d expected. But that was probably because most of our quality time was spent naked and the rest of it was working out details of the Nash’s-fake-memory-recovery-to-lure-Duncan-Hugo-out-of-hiding plan.
The makeup artist packed up her gear and hustled out of the room. I slid off the counter and approached Nash. He was in uniform and scowling, a combination I found utterly appealing.
“Need I remind you? This was your idea,” I said, running my palms across his broad chest. He’d been putting weight back on, steadily adding muscle to his frame. And I’d noticed him using his bad shoulder with fewer grimaces. My heart had given up on its nervous PVCs for the most part, and I wondered if earth-shattering sex was some kind of miracle cure-all.
“My idea was to spread the word that my memory was back. Not shout it from a national online magazine with a goddamn photo shoot,” he complained.
“Poor baby. But we have to make sure the news spreads far and wide in case Duncan is in hiding across the country.”
“How did Stef even pull this off?” Nash demanded, tugging irritably on his collar.
“He’s got a PR firm on retainer. Naomi called him, he called them, and here we are.”
“Remind me to drop a weight plate on his foot at the gym next time I see him.”
I grinned.
“What?”
“I kind of like it when you’re surly. It’s cute,” I confessed.
