Page 191 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
He spilled his secret, telling me the one thing that could convince me to keep this from Emery.
I didn’t agree with lying to her, but I agreed she needed to find out from him.
She was a plot twist. A surprise. The curveball thrown at me near the end of the book. If I wanted to reach the happy fucking ending, I needed to embrace the twist and fight my way to the finish line.
I couldn’t keep secrets from her.
If I didn’t tell her, I would lose her.
But if I told her, I would hurt her.
So, when the man I’d spent four years seeking revenge from asked me to keep his secret, I agreed.
Even if it meant losing Emery.
“What if the only word people knew was thank you?” I asked from the floor of Nash’s penthouse.
I laid on the living room carpet, rolling around in four king-size comforters. Excessive, yes, but so plush. I imagined riding a unicorn through a wave of rainbows and cotton candy clouds compared to this.
Being sick is amazing.
My excuse for missing work the past four days ended yesterday, but I’d convinced my hot boss to call in sick for me. (Nash. Not Chantilly.)
The philophobia shirt rose up my stomach. I didn’t bother to lower it. Nash sat on the couch, wearing nothing but dark gray Nike joggers, scars on display for me to feast on.
Tipping my chin at the extra comforter, I summoned it with my eyes. In reality, Nash tossed it on me, adding to the pile of bliss.
He watched me turn myself into a human burrito, lips finally—fucking finally—turned up since his visit with Dad. “That’s two words.”
“Humor me.”
“Thank you would become meaningless.”
“Or everything would improve. Think of it this way—would you rather say you’re sorry for being late or you’re thankful someone waited for you? I’d rather be thankful than sorry.” I mimicked an explosion with my mouth. “Boom! Game changer. Perspective forever altered.”
He muttered something under his breath and gazed at me with hooded eyes. The joint cradled between two fingers came from Reed’s stash. He never lit it, but I often caught him toying with them.
“What’s with the weed, Seth Rogen?”
He discarded it in the plastic baggie and set another blanket on me. “Fucking hell. Twenty Questions again?”
I rested my chin on my knuckles. “Do you consider yourself sentimental, Nash?”
“Why?”
A hum vibrated the back of my throat. “It’s just that you're walking around with weed from the night I baltered for you, and you sent my Easy, Tiger shirt to the dry cleaner’s instead of donating it like I asked you to.”
Even though I wanted to keep the shirt, I always donated them. I needed all the good karma I could get. That i
ncluded spreading magic words and helping people who need it. If I caved and kept the tee, I’d do it again and again.
Nash made the choice for me.
“Emery?” He ran his fingers through his hair. Once, which I noticed he only did for me.
“Yes?”
“You ask too many questions.”
