Thief (Love Me With Lies #3)(39)

“Yes,” she says again.

“And before he left, how often was he around?”

She’s quiet for a long time.

“It’s like he thought he could be married on his terms. Have you at home for when it was convenient for him, but he’s never been there for you.”

“Stop.”

I grab her wrist and hold it. “Why didn’t he come back when Dobson escaped from that damn institution?”

“He said they’d catch him. To sit tight and trust the police.”

“Exactly. He was supposed to protect you. That was his job. He should have been on a plane the minute he found out.”

“That’s not fair,” she says, shaking her head. “He knows I’m tough. He knows I can take care of myself.”

I make a disgusted noise in the back of my throat. This is sad.

“Listen to me,” I grab her face so she has to look at me when I say this, “I know you don’t know this because your dad was a useless shit, and he never did anything to show you how you need to be treated. But you are valuable enough for any and every man in your life to drop everything to protect you. You shouldn’t have to be forced to be strong on your own because no one will stand with you. Your dad failed you. Noah failed you. I will not fail you again.”

I kiss her on the forehead just as she sheds a tear. Just one.



“Round and round and round we go, Olivia. This is about you and me, not you and Noah. Just take a few weeks. Spend some time with me. No decisions until it’s a fair decision.”

“The fair decision would be to do what’s right-”

I cut her off. “For you. Yes, do what’s right for you. Give me some time to show you.”

She opens her pink lips to shoot some venom at me.

“Hush,” I say. “Pack an overnight bag. There’s somewhere I want to take you.”

“I can’t just take off with you! I have a job!”

“I know you took some time off. Bernie told me.”

Olivia looks flabbergasted. “Bernie? When did you talk to Bernie?”

“I ran into her at the grocery store. She was worried about you.”

Her mouth is open. She shakes her head like the idea that anyone is worried about her is ludicrous.

“I’m fine,” she says firmly.

I grab her wrist and pull her into a hug, kissing the top of her head. “No, you’re not. I’m your soulmate. I’m the only one who knows how to heal you.”

She slaps me away, and when I let go, instead of pulling away, she buries her face in my chest like she’s trying to burrow herself into me. I rewrap her in a hug, trying not to laugh.

“Come on, Duchess. It’ll be like the camping trip.”

“Yeah, it’ll be just like that.” Her voice is muffled against my chest. “Except you won’t be lying about having amnesia, and I won’t be lying about not knowing you, and your redheaded bitch of a girlfriend won’t be trashing my apartment while we’re gone.”

I squeeze her tighter. It makes me sick that Leah did that. The things she’s done to keep Olivia and me apart are especially twisted. Almost as twisted as the things I’ve done to keep us together. I grimace and grip her by the shoulders, pulling her away so I can see her face.

“What do you say? Yes?”

“How long will we be gone?”

I think about it. “Four days.”

She shakes her head. “Two.”

“Three,” I counter. “We have to use one of those days for travel.”

She cocks her head and frowns at me. “We’re not really going camping, are we? Because, every time we do — we have some type of emotional catalyst, and I really don’t think I can handle-”

I put a hand over her mouth. “No camping. Pack something nice to wear. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight A.M.”

“Okay.” She tries to act nonchalant, but I can tell she’s excited.

I kiss her forehead. “Bye, Duchess. See you soon.”

I leave without looking back at her. I have no idea where I’m taking her, and I can’t lie and say camping didn’t cross my mind. But, as soon as she reminded me that both of our camping trips went to shit, I tossed the idea. She needed something to remind her how good we were together, not about the games we played. I pull out my phone as I climb into my car. I know the perfect place and it’s only a few hours away.



I knock on her door at 7:45.

“Always early,” she complains when she opens it. Her bag is in her hand. I take it and look her over. She’s wearing faded jeans and a fitted Marlins t-shirt. Her hair is wet and loose around her face.

She sees me eyeing her shirt and she shrugs. “I went to a game,” she says. I catch the defensiveness in her voice and I smirk.

“What?” she says, slapping me on the arm. “I like sport.”

“First of all, I’m the British one, not you. It’s sports. Second, you hate sports and sport and athletes. As I recall, you once told me that professional athletes were a waste of space.”

The corner of her mouth dips in as she frowns. “Noah likes baseball. I was being supportive.”

“Ah.”

I feel jealous, so I turn away and walk to the elevator with her bag while she locks up.