Page 47

“I was thinking about Josh.” His influence stops riding me so hard, but I know he won’t settle for only that. His jaw drops open the slightest amount, the only indication he might be surprised by my words, before he tilts his head back and chuckles. He closes his eyes and breathes deep.

“Pathetic.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You miss him?”

“Did I say that?”

He opens his eyes, looking at me through tiny slits, unmoving. He stares at me like this for a few minutes as I mark indents into my lip, and I finally decide to give in. I’d rather him think me pathetic for any other reason, as long as it’s not pining over the man who cheated on me.

“I was too much. I was the reason he left.”

This piques his interest, and he sits up, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you mean?”

“I couldn’t handle it after my parents died. I—I’m not like Sasha. She can stay busy and be fine. She still has her dad, too. I…struggled.” He nods, encouraging me to continue. I sigh, the desire to fight gone. “I let it consume me, and I shouldn’t have expected Josh to be able to handle it. It’s too much on someone.” Roman says nothing, looking past me at the bathroom door. His lips flatten and his nostrils flare, and I’m reminded once more of his predatory nature. I laugh, and it’s hollow. It doesn’t sound like me at all. “Anyway, that’s the least of my worries. I would rather not talk about it.”

I stand, slipping off the bed to grab something else out of the box, but he grabs my wrist and stops me.

“I know it doesn’t matter now, but Josh was cheating on you before your parents died. There was a girl he worked with. Mindy or something. And another girl he met on a dating app, too. Alexa wasn’t the first.”

My jaw drops, and I wrench my arm away from him. “How do you know that?”

“Phone records.” He shrugs, but he averts his eyes.

I take the photo album Sasha made and turn to put it back in the box, not letting him see the tears I’m holding back. I don’t know if I’m angry or relieved or just plain sad, but I don’t need him to see it leaking out of me while I sort it out. A big part of me resents him for telling me at all. It changes nothing, and it’s not like I’m ever going to get the chance to tell Josh he’s a bigger piece of shit than I thought possible. I inhale, kicking myself when it comes out as a sniffle. Once I’ve composed myself, grateful Roman doesn’t seem eager to move from his spot, I grab the cigar box I decorated for Dad one Christmas.

It’s painted blue and black, a night sky complete with stars flicked on by dipping a toothbrush in white paint and rubbing my thumb down the bristles to make the paint fly off. Dad kept it on his dresser and would put his wallet and keys in it every night. It was his command center, and I’m pleased it held up all this time. As I sit it on the bed, I get caught in Roman’s gaze, and I’m surprised to see he looks furious. His face is ruddy, and he’s clenching his hands in his lap.

“Did I do some—”

“No. We don’t have time for sob stories. Get back to work.”

It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. I don’t know what the fuck just happened between us, but I had stupidly thought informing me about Josh’s previous infidelity had been an act of kindness. It was a way for him to tell me, without so many words, that it hadn’t been me. That I hadn’t been too much.

Maybe I was wrong.

I flip open the lid to the cigar box, sifting through unopened bills. Sasha and I had hired someone to handle all the accounts, so I never needed to go through all this stuff.

When I reach the bottom of the stack, I frown as I pull out an envelope with my name on it. It’s in Dad’s handwriting, his block capitalized letters spelling out my full name.

Gwyneth Anne Parsons.

Roman snags it out of my hand before I have a chance to do anything with it. He’s tearing it open, and I gasp, lunging forward to take it back from him. He holds me at bay with his elbow as he twists away from me. Roman pulls the letter out, unfolding it, before he shoves it into my face.

“Translate it.”

I take the letter into my hands, staring at layers upon layers of letters and numbers in different colors. One set of letters is in red and it goes vertically down the page. The next is blue, and it goes horizontally. There is no rhyme or reason to it, and I stare at it blankly.

“I can’t.”

“Bullshit. He coded that little letter to you about what you are.Translate it.”

I shake my head. “Seriously, Roman. I can’t translate this. I don’t—this isn’t a stupid little language me and Sash made up. Can—can Margot put it through—”

“Just because I don’t torture you or treat you like filth doesn’t mean you’re not my prisoner. It doesn’t mean you’re walking out of here alive, Gwyn.”

“I know that,” I snap, shoving the paper at him. He changes between one breath and the next, and I can’t fucking keep up. His eyes are still dilated, my blood in his system making him high. Maybe he didn’t mean to show me that kindness a moment ago, and he’s beating himself up over it. I don’t know. But it’s not my fault he did.