Page 219 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
My lower lip folded into my mouth. Even disheveled, I wanted him.
Sighing, I yanked the letter from his fingers and scanned the first line.
You are flawed.
A hate letter?
I jerked my gaze up. “Are you serious?”
“Did you want me to send it to an editor first?” He seemed a little unhinged, the whites of his eyes peppered with red from lack of sleep. “Come on, just read it.” His hand raked through his hair. Once. “Please.”
It was his hands through his hair that undid me, but the please cemented it. I dropped my gaze back down to the letter and read.
You are flawed.
You talk to yourself.
You talk to the sky.
You know words that mean nothing to most people.
You don’t care about words that matter to everyone else.
You are harder on yourself than others.
You love the dark more than you love the light.
Your heart is too big, so you do stupid shit like give up food and shelter for a complete stranger to get a college degree.
&n
bsp; You love small moments more than big ones.
You believe in magical words, yet you don’t believe in fate.
You are so fixated on the stars—whether or not they’re there—but to be fucking honest, the sky could be full of them or completely empty, and I’d still be looking at you.
You are flawed, but you're also perfect. (Of course, you don’t believe in the word perfect either.)
And if I could give you anything, I wouldn’t save you (from yourself or me). You’re more than capable of doing all the saving.
I’d give you the ability to look at yourself through my eyes. You’d see that you are not the storm. You are lightning in the storm. You are what pierces through the clouds and shines brightest.
You'd see exactly why I love you.
“Nash,” I started, unsure what to say.
I struggled to find words, swallowing each emotion as they took turns throttling me. His fingers reached for the letter when all I wanted to do was grab it, frame it, and make it mine.
I released it, because the idea of it ripping in my hands devastated me.
My eyes refused to leave him. He looked like a favorite memory, one you replayed until everything reminded you of it and became déjà vu.
Nash broke the silence with an infuriating, self-satisfied smile. “Yep.”
“Excuse me?”
“Just wanted to see your face as you read this. You still love me.”
