Page 7 of Silent Verity (Razor Monkees #2)

Jesse

W hen I’d woken up, even if it had been rather abruptly by Kalin banging on the door like he’d lost all his common sense, I’d felt more rested than I had in months.

More rested than I had since we’d all moved into this much bigger house.

Having Dalton wrapped around me with my head resting on his chest, his steady heartbeat thrumming beneath my ear, had been so fucking soothing. It’d been everything I’d needed.

And now, reality was slapping me in the face again. Even with his promise of us being able to do this again—since he’d said we could do whatever I wanted after this photoshoot—I still couldn’t help but fear that I was going to lose this again.

I needed Dalton like I needed air to breathe. For the first time yesterday and last night, my lungs had worked properly again. And now, with the fear of him pulling away once more clouding my senses and my proper judgment, my lungs were threatening to collapse.

“You good?” Dalton asked softly as he drove, his hand resting on the steering wheel.

His right arm was resting on the center console, his hand dangling, a temptation all in itself.

How easy would it be to reach over and slip my fingers through his?

To cling on so this sick feeling in my stomach would go away?

I didn’t want to fake a relationship for the cameras like Tor and Salem had.

And while Delia hadn’t explicitly said that was what we’d be doing starting today, it was implied.

I was terrified that fake dating Dalton for the cameras and for the fans would just push him further away from me and send the islands we were standing on even further away from each other.

“I’m okay,” I murmured.

He hummed. “I don’t believe you.”

Swallowing thickly, I turned my head to stare out the window, deciding not answering him would be better than supplying a response at all.

We were quiet for a good minute, and then, his hand was grabbing mine, lacing our fingers together.

My heart lurched into my throat, and I swung my head around to look at him so damn fast, I got a crick in my neck.

“This okay?” Dalton asked, his deep voice low and soothing. He glanced at me and gently squeezed my fingers before focusing back on the road. “You look like you need it.”

Suddenly, there was a lump in my throat so big, it prevented me from speaking. So instead, I just nodded. Sparing me another quick glance, he smiled, then focused back on the road. And for the rest of the trip, he just held my hand, occasionally giving it a little squeeze.

How did he always fucking know what I needed? If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought Dalton was well-versed in witchcraft or something.

Or maybe he just hadn’t forgotten years of friendship after all.

When we got to the photoshoot site, Delia was waiting for us, and she was furious .

Dalton stepped up so close to me, our shoulders brushed.

“We know we’re late, and we’re sorry,” he told her before she could open her mouth and say something that would no doubt be hateful.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “But yelling at us will just make us even later.”

She scowled at him. “Get in that fucking trailer for hair and makeup,” she snapped, pointing at one of the trailers. “Jesse, you’re in that one.” She pointed to the other one. “Both of you get out of my face.”

I grunted, shooting her a scowl before I reluctantly moved away from Dalton and headed for the trailer she’d directed me to.

If Delia wasn’t so damn good at managing us, I was sure all of us would’ve demanded Richard hire someone different a long time ago.

Delia was a grade-A bitch. I wasn’t sure there was a single person on this planet who actually liked the dreadful woman.

But she was a fantastic manager, and because of her, we’d risen to the top super fast.

Makeup and hair were a pain in the ass, as always. My face was poked and prodded, and the hair stylist pulled at my scalp so much, I had a headache about two minutes in. And then so much hairspray was used, I was surprised me and the makeup artist didn’t pass the fuck out from the fumes.

When I finally emerged from the trailer, Dalton was already done, his half blonde-half black hair hanging loose and straightened to perfection. He grinned at me, and my gut swooped. “You look hot,” he teased. But fuck, my entire body responded to that compliment anyway.

“You don’t look half bad yourself,” I told him as we were ushered over to the tree line, where the photoshoot would be happening.

We’d both been dressed in some designer’s clothes I didn’t recognize.

Dalton was in a loose button-down that was only fastened to halfway up his torso, leaving his chest exposed.

Light-colored, loose pants rested on his hips, and he was wearing a pair of sandals.

I’d been dressed in dark jeans that clung to my thighs with a t-shirt with a foreign name stitched on the upper right quadrant. Unlaced combat boots covered my feet.

We couldn’t have been more opposite if we tried. And maybe that was the purpose. Dalton’s outfit embodied his light-hearted personality and the easier life he’d had, and mine reflected my dark mood and the shit childhood I’d had.

I doubted anyone who’d planned this had known any of that, but I found it ironic either way.

“Okay, I need you two to look like you’re in love. But Jesse, I need you to be moodier, and Dalton, I need you to look more open and friendly. We’re going for an opposites attract look,” the photographer told us.

I sighed. “How’d I fucking know?” I muttered as two of his assistants began to move us so I had one arm wrapped around Dalton’s waist. He gripped my shirt in his right hand, his left hand slipping into my back pocket.

He was leaning back a bit, and my left knee was between his thighs.

My left hand rested on his hip like I was trying to draw him closer.

“Perfect! Now look in love,” the photographer demanded before he began to snap pictures of us.

That wasn’t hard. And apparently, it wasn’t for Dalton either, which just fucking cut deep.

Because he was looking at me like I was the only man—hell, the only person —who existed.

Like his world revolved around me. I swallowed thickly, my fingers spasming on his hip.

A slow smile tilted his lips, and my heart flipped in my chest.

“You’re too good at this,” I rasped, feeling a little panicky. My heart was jackhammering in my chest, and my throat was tightening up.

Dalton just hummed but kept his eyes locked on mine as if we really were a couple. As if this was normal . As if he just might really love me.

When the photoshoot was over and I was left alone to change back into my normal clothes, I promptly threw up into the trash can in the tiny bathroom, feeling shaky and unstable.

I couldn’t do this. I wasn’t as strong as Tor and Salem had been. Delia was going to have to figure out a different way to tease fans and keep them drooling over us because faking a relationship with Dalton was going to fucking kill me.

I wouldn’t be able to survive this.