Page 198 of Love Arranged

His breathing is ragged by the time he pulls away.

“Get angry at me. Yell at me. Ask me a hundred questions, and I’ll answer each one honestly?—”

“Tell me why you said you’d leave if you lost the election.”

His lips press firmly together.

“You promised to be honest.”

He nods. “I did.” He slowly slides off the bed and heads to the closet.

“Where are you going?” I rise onto my elbows.

The closet’s automatic light switches on, revealing a row of dresses in all shapes, materials, and vivid colors. Not a single black stitch to be accounted for.

If I didn’t have a bigger task to focus on, I’d ask him when he bought all those clothes for me. My guess is sometime before the debate.

Lorenzo disappears around the corner and returns carrying one of his T-shirts. I throw it on while he pulls on a pair of new boxer briefs.

“So?” I say once we’re both no longer naked.

“Do you want a drink for this conversation?”

“Do I need one?”

“Maybe.”

I shake my head. “I’ll take Daisy though.”

He opens the door and calls her name. She runs down the hall and skids to a stop by his feet, and I expect him to order her to the dog bed in the corner. Instead he pats the mattress, and she jumps onto the bed and curls into a ball beside me.

That should’ve been my first clue that I wouldn’t like whatever he is about to share, but it’s the second one that makes me uneasy. Because Lorenzo is visiblytrembling, and I’m no longer afraid of how he could hurt me but rather what could’ve hurthim.

52

LILY

When I saw the look in Lorenzo’s eyes, I knew I wasn’t mentally prepared for this conversation, but I didn’t realize how unequipped I was until he begins talking.

“Trevor killed my parents.”

“Trevor…Ludlow?” I ask, too shocked by the news to fully process it the first time.

He nods.

The faint ringing sound in my ears grows louder as I mentally spiral. In my head, ten different questions pop up, none of which make it past my parted lips.

Lorenzo begins pacing the space in front of the bed. “He was out late, drinking at some bonfire with all his friends.”

Even though I know how this story ends, my throat still closes up like someone wrapped their hand around my neck.

Lorenzo continues walking back and forth, his body riddled with tension, and his hands visibly shaking. “Trevor could’ve walked home if he wanted to. He lived that close to the beach where he and his buddies were drinking. But no, he decided todrivelike an entitled, reckless brat who thinks they’re untouchable.”

Thankfully I’m not standing because I’m hit with a dizzy spell. I concentrate on Lorenzo, as if I’m lost at sea and he is my horizon.

“If he were my friend, I would’ve stolen the keys straight from his hands, but clearly Trevor was surrounded by all the wrong ones. Or maybe they tried to block him from driving, but they clearly didn’t try hard enough because who tells a Ludlow what to do?” The bitterness in his tone isn’t directed at me, but it feels like it with how harshly Lorenzo speaks.

“No one,” I murmur.