Page 57 of Ruin Me With Lies

After another long minute of silence, I ask, “What are you reading?”

Several beats pass before he replies, “‘To every man upon this earth, death cometh soon or late.And how can man die better than facing fearful odds.For the ashes of his fathers, and the temples of his gods.’”

“Horatius,” I say.

His gaze shifts from the pages to me, one brow arching slightly.

“I know a lot of random shit,” I explain with a failed shrug.

His attention returns to his book.“Don’t blaspheme the classics.”

“My apologies.”I wiggle my toes in his lap.“Did you hold up your end of the bargain?”

A low, disgruntled noise rumbles from his throat.“Yes.Your bartender will be on the first flight out to Santo Domingo, with her soul still intact.”

“Good.Pleasure doing business with you, Mr.Castello.”

There’s the slightest, almost imperceptible curve of his lips.“Cute that you think that was business.”

“I take pleasure in being delusional sometimes.Leave me be.”

He drums his fingers against my toes.“Go back to sleep, little liar.”

“Only if you tell me a bedtime story.”I’m deliberately testing his patience now.“Or sing me a lullaby.”

His snort is light, that ghost of a smile still lingering.He tilts his head back, eyes drifting to the ceiling for a moment, before shifting back to me.Fire and mischief flickering in their depths.“A little lost lamb wandered into the land of lions.Its eyes green with guile, its lips red with lies.Mask firmly fixed, the entire kingdom it tricked.Before the lions knew, the cunning lamb grew, and its true nature slipped through.But one lion waited, in darkness and bright, for when faux wool falls, and morning bows to night.Strike as it might, only one will win the fight.And the wilywolfwill return, into the earth as a worm.”

No chance he just made that up.Does he have a hate book where he scribbles venomous little poems about me?

I yawn.“Don’t quit your day job as a criminal.You’re a terrible poet.”

“That was your lullaby.”He pinches my calf like I’m a misbehaving child.“Now close your eyes and go back to sleep, or get up and get the hell out.”

Miserable prick.

Flipping over toward the back of the couch, I close my eyes.But sleep is impossible.I’m too wired with the restless weight of feelings I can’t even name.Too aware of his presence, his warmth, his hand still resting on my feet like he’s forgotten it’s there.

Quiet settles around us, thick and safe.I sink into it—the nearness, the tangible reality of this moment, the comfort.

I don’t want the sun to rise.Don’t want to move.

I just want to stay here, in the false safety of this stolen moment, with my rightfully paranoid king.

~

WHEN I OPENmy eyes again, I’m alone.Sunlight floods the room, chasing away the quiet cocoon of the night.

Looks like Ididfall back asleep after all.

From the kitchen, the sounds of clinking dishes and the sweet aroma of frying bacon tells me Cora is already up and about.

Feeling well-rested and refreshed, I peel up from the couch, stretch my arms above my head, and shuffle toward the kitchen.

“Good morning, dear,” Cora greets, all bright and chipper.“Slept well?”

“Reallywell,” I admit.“That is one comfortable couch.”

She hums in agreement.“Stefano had it custom-made.It’s where he falls asleep most mornings.”