Page 203 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
“Did you say something? I couldn’t hear you. Ran out of Q-Tips this morning.” I patted the hole in the quilt as if my touch would heal it. “Do you know what hiraeth is?”
Ceiling: No, but I'm sure you’ll tell me. I'd rather you didn't.
“Hiraeth is a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was. It is the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past. I’ve always thought of it as the saddest entry in the dictionary.”
Ceiling: This conversation deserves a name. Then, it’d be the most pathetic entry in the dictionary.
“And on the long list of lies, I can’t even wrap my head around the whole thing about the Winthrop Scandal. I mean, if you think about it, the only person in my life who hasn’t blatantly lied to me is Reed.”
Ceiling: The kid you once thought you were in love with? Hypocritical, since you never told him… and Nash never told you something. I'm sensing a theme. Why do humans leave so much to be desired?
I ignored the last half of Ceiling’s insults. “Stupid that I once considered Reed a recipient of my love. He didn’t compare to Nash. With Nash… It’s a vicious love, the kind that beats me down and robs me of all my possessions until I feel bloodied, worn, and bruised, stolen of everything that makes me… me.”
Ceiling: Sounds healthy. Who needs carrots when you have Nash Prescott?
“I wonder if this is how any of my father’s victims felt. Except… If Nash is to be believed, they’re not my father’s victims.”
Ceiling: You should probably talk to Gideon… and not me.
“You’re right. Tomorrow.” I wrapped myself in the quilt like a burrito. One of those sad and skinny ones from Chipotle, that happens when the customer doesn’t know how to order. “Hey, Ceiling? Avoiding Nash sucks.”
Ceiling: Awwwwww, did the bad boy break your heart?
“Don’t be silly. He didn’t break my heart. He cracked it open.”
Knock!
Knock!
I swung the closet door open, bedhead for days. My heartbeats tripped over themselves, racing at the sight of Nash. He wore a navy three-piece suit, tailored to hug every delicious inch of him.
My hair stuck up in several places. The clinomania shirt I wore boasted drool stains on the shoulder. I’d stayed up all night, talking to Ceiling, and the night before that—the night of Virginia’s dinner—I hadn’t slept at all.
Delirium had set in twelve or so hours ago.
I didn’t know how to act around Nash, so I went with pretending his lies hadn’t gutted me. “How did you know I’m here?”
After we’d returned from the dinner, I’d begged Delilah to grab my boxes and high-tailed to a random floor.
He went along with my ruse, “Full disclosure?”
No. Lie to me again.
“Obviously.”
Nash eyed my shirt, my hair, the quilt behind me, everything. “I checked every room from the ground up. You had to pick the twenty-fourth floor?”
“Had I known, I would have picked the fifty-third.”
I examined him, head to toe, telling myself I did it to confirm the truth and not because I already missed him less than forty hours into our fight. Beneath the Kiton suit, his chest rose and fell a little faster. A thin sheen of sweat misted his forehead. His cheeks flushed the softest shade of pink from the exertion.
Jesus.
He really had inspected every floor. Even he looked like he couldn't believe it. Furrowed brows and jaw a bit slack. His fingers combed through his hair. Once.
I clutched onto the door frame, trying and failing to delete the question from my brain. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
