Beautifully Cruel (Beautifully Cruel #1)(65)

“Goliath underestimated David. Look where that got him.”

He draws his brows together, squinting his eyes and peering at me from across the room like he’s gazing into a crystal ball, trying to discern the future. Then his look clears to one of understanding.

In a tone of wonder, he says, “You’re worried about me.”

I say stiffly, “Don’t get all puffed up about it. I’m just trying to be practical.”

His eyes are as soft as his voice. “I’ll keep it in mind. Thank you.”

“But I’m not saying I want you to try to scare him or even do anything about it, okay? And the don’t-hurt-him directive still stands. I’m just giving you a head’s up.”

“Understood.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky swear.”

He smiles broadly. It’s breathtaking. Our gazes hold for a moment before I turn around and head back to the library, my head screaming at me not to let myself have feelings for this stranger who’s suddenly taken over my life while my heart warns that it’s already too late for that.

I try to study for a while, but give up. I’m too distracted. I call Ellie, but it goes to voicemail. I leave a message telling her I’ll be staying with Liam for a while, which I know she already knows, and for future reference, I’d appreciate it if she took my side once in a while.

I text Carla to thank her for coming to dinner, but don’t get an answer.

As I’m sitting there looking at the phone in my hand, I become overwhelmed by everything that’s happened. The attack in the alley, finding out about Liam, Diego’s bizarre reactions, graduating from school, being here…everything swamps me, battering me from all sides.

I lean over, rest my head on my arms on the tabletop, and close my eyes, trying not to cry.

I fall asleep that way, sitting in a chair, face down over a table. Which is how Liam finds me when he comes in sometime later.

Without a word, he picks me up in his arms and takes me back to bed.





23





Tru





I don’t understand how a criminal mastermind who terrifies grown men by the mere mention of his name can also be such a snuggler.

We’re back to front, spooning, his favorite position. His big body curves around mine like we were molded this way in a lab. He didn’t bother trying to undress me, he simply laid me down on the bed and pulled the covers up over us, then turned me on my side and burrowed against me.

His warm breath tickles the fine hairs on the back of my neck.

In a drowsy voice, he says, “Are you comfortable?”

“Physically, very.”

Knowing what I left out, he murmurs, “The hardest thing in the world is to be at odds with yourself.”

“You make it sound like you have personal experience in that area.”

“I do. I also have a recommendation.”

“Which is?”

“Let it be. Accept that you have warring factions inside you. If you’re living by your core values, all the second-guessing is just noise you can give yourself permission to ignore.”

My philosophical wolf. I think about his words for a while, staring into the dark.

He prompts, “Let’s hear them. I know you have a list.”

That shouldn’t surprise me, but I ask anyway. “How do you know?”

“Because I was once an idealist, too.”

His voice is heavy with something that could be regret. Or maybe it’s just weariness.

“Okay. Not in any special order, my top five core values are non-conformity, self-reliance, kindness, honesty, and courage.”

“Top five of how many total?”

“Twelve.”

I can’t see his smile, but I can feel it. “Let’s have the rest.”

“Curiosity. Freedom. Persistence. Learning. Humor. Gratitude. Solitude.”

After a while, he says softly, “It’s a good list.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m curious, though. Solitude? Most people don’t like to be lonely.”

“Loneliness and solitude are two totally different things. All the times I’ve been loneliest have been in a crowd.”

His silence is thoughtful, then he squeezes me tighter against him, sighing against my hair. I feel him struggling with himself, but I don’t know why.

I whisper, “How did you get to be what you are, Liam?”

“What am I?”

“A man standing on top of a mountain of bones.”

He exhales slowly, turning his forehead to the back of my neck. It’s hot, as if he’s running a fever. His voice thick, he says, “It was either climb to the top or be one of the skeletons.”

“Are you happy?”

His laugh is cutting. “Are you joking?”

“No.”

“Happiness is an illusion.”

“I feel sad for you that you think that. Most people think happiness is basically the whole point of life.”

His tone is laced faintly with disgust. “Which is exactly why most people are depressed. They value happiness over everything else. Over the more important things. But it’s just an emotion. It hardly matters at all.”