Page 48 of My Dark Prince
Sweetheart, your house is a glorified porta potty with a curtain of beads partitioning your toilet and kitchen.
Another thing her house was? Nonexistent.
I’d broken her lease. There was no way I’d let her go back to that unsafe shithole. I still had no idea what she’d do once she regained her memory. I’d probably have to find her a new place. I hoped she wasn’t too proud to accept help, because buying her a nice house in a safe neighborhood would make me feel better about how we’d left things off.
“The south wing is not to be entered, Briar.”
She parked her balled fists on her waist. “Why?”
I closed my eyes. Drew in a breath. Decided to go for some version of the truth. “I have a dark side.”
“Is this about the butt plugs I saw in the car? Because if so, I’m totally not judging.”
“I said I have a dark side, not anawesomeside. Pay attention.”
She scowled. “What’s the secret?”
“It’s private.”
“I’m your freakingfiancée.”
Shit. Right.
“I’m, um, a …”Serial killer? Art thief? The grim reaper?“… hoarder.”
Yes. Truly the best I could come up with. What can I say? Up until now, I’d never lived in a straight-to-cable romantic comedy where everything – including absolutely everything – went wrong.
Briar’s eyes squinted into two suspicious slits. She obviously believed me a little less than she believed Santa was capable of sliding in and out of chimneys all night, on all seven continents, and still managed to be a jolly motherfucker.
“Let me through.”
“It’s madness over there. I’m talking mountains of reuseable bags, empty Costco cardboards, newspapers from the sixties, my used toilet paper collection …”
She angled her head sideways. “You have a used toilet paper collection?”
“What can I say? The heart wants what it wants.” And in my case, apparently it wanted bacteria. “Look, you can’t see my shit.”
“I am your futurewife. I’m sure I’ve seen your literal shit once or twice. Men are notorious for forgetting to flush. I do remember that. I had the displeasure of living in a coed dorm during college.” Her eyes widened, lighting up. “Oh, God, Ollie, I just remembered.” She slapped her own mouth. “I went to Baylor.”
“My condolences.”
“I’m serious.” She flicked my chest, her entire face lit up. “I remembered something about my past. But …” She frowned, tilting her head. “I can’t remember you visiting me at all. Wasn’t I supposed to go to Harvard? Why didn’t I go? Were we broken up at this point?”
“Something like that,” I muttered.
“Uh-huh. What did you do?”
“Why do you assumeIdid something?”
“Because I would never risk our relationship. I’m too crazy about you.”
Something prickled in my chest. A heart attack? No. Worse. Much worse. Okay,fuck, this was bad. Because it made me feel something. Something that wasn’t a total disdain for life.
“Fine, yes. It was me,” I grumbled.
She gasped. “Did you cheat?”
My mouth dropped. “No. I’d never cheat on you.”
