Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 28033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
“Who?”
The word came out harder than she expected, and when she glanced up, his tawny eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch.
“What?”
“Who were they? These experiences.”
“I don’t think the card requires—”
“Lexina.”
Oh, that tone. That low, commanding tone that made her want to tell him everything and nothing all at once.
“Fine!” She set her wine glass down with a little too much force, her mind racing for something—anything—that sounded plausible. “There was...Guile.”
Where had that come from?
Oh no.
Oh no, no, no.
“Guile.” Leon repeated the name slowly, tasting it like something bitter. “What kind of name is Guile?”
“It’s...a nickname.” She was committed now. No going back. “He was American. Air Force.” The character details were coming back to her from all those stress-relief gaming sessions, tumbling out before she could stop them. “Very, um. Tall. Muscular. He had this...” She gestured vaguely at her head. “Flat-top haircut. Very military. And he always wore his dog tags, even when he wasn’t in uniform.”
Why was she still talking?
Why couldn’t she stop talking?
Leonidas’s jaw had gone tight. “Air Force.”
“Yes.”
“And how did you meet this...Guile?”
“Through friends. Mutual friends. It was very casual.”
“How casual?”
“Just...you know.” She could feel sweat prickling at the back of her neck. “Casual.”
“Did he touch you?”
“Leon—”
“Did he kiss you?”
“Can we please just—”
“Answer the question.”
“I don’t remember!”
“You don’t remember if a man kissed you.”
“It was a long time ago!”
“And yet you remember his dog tags.”
Her face was burning. This was a disaster. This was an absolute disaster, and she had no one to blame but herself and her panicking brain that had somehow decided Street Fighter characters were a good cover story.
“There was also...Ken,” she heard herself say.
What was she doing?
WHAT WAS SHE DOING?
Something dark flickered in Leon’s expression. “There was more than one.”
“He was...different.” She couldn’t stop. The words kept coming like a train with no brakes. “Japanese-American. Also blond, but longer hair, kind of...” She made a flowing gesture that she immediately regretted. “He was really into martial arts. Trained all the time. Had his own dojo, actually. Always wore this red...training outfit.”
“A red training outfit.”
“It’s a martial arts thing!”
“You seem to remember quite a lot about this Ken.”
“I—”
“His hair. His clothes. His dojo.” Leonidas leaned forward, and Lexy instinctively leaned back. “What else do you remember, Lexina? How he looked at you? How he touched you?”
“That’s not—”
“Did you love him?”
“No!”
“But you remember his training outfit.”
“Because it was distinctive!”
“How long were you together?”
“I don’t—”
“Weeks? Months?”
“I can’t—”
“Did you sleep with him?”
“LEON.”
“It’s a simple question.”
“It’s an invasive question!”
“You brought up your relationship history.” His voice had dropped to something low and dangerous, and Lexy’s heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. “I am simply asking for details.”
“Well maybe—” She was on her feet before she knew it, her chair scraping back against the floor. “Maybe I don’t want to talk about this anymore!”
“Because you have something to hide?”
“Because you’re being impossible!”
“I’m being thorough.”
“You’re being jealous!”
The word escaped before she could catch it, and it hung in the air between them like something fragile and dangerous.
Leonidas’s expression went carefully blank. “I am not jealous.”
“Then why do you care so much about Guile’s dog tags?”
He didn’t have an answer for that.
Or rather, he did—but it wasn’t one he was willing to voice.
“You were eighteen when we married,” he said instead, his voice tight. “How much of a life could you have possibly—”
“Enough of one! Enough to know things! Enough to have done things! Enough to—”
She stopped.
Because she was about to cry, and she would not cry in front of him. Not about this. Not about the pathetic truth that she’d invented fake boyfriends because she had nothing real to tell him.
“Enough to what?” His voice had gone soft. Dangerous.
“Nothing.”
“Lexina.”
“I said nothing!”
“You’re lying.” He rose from his chair, and she took an instinctive step back, but there was nowhere to go—just the wall behind her and him in front of her, moving closer with that intent look that made her knees weak. “Your eyes go left when you’re making things up. They’ve been going left since you said the word ‘Guile.’”
Oh no.
“So let me ask you again.” He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell his cologne, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. “Your relationship history. Before marriage. What is it really?”
“I told you—”
“The truth this time.”
“I AM telling the truth!”
“Then look me in the eye and say it.”
She tried.
She really, really tried.
But his gaze was too intense, and her heart was beating too fast, and the lie was crumbling around her like wet paper, and—
“I...there was...”
“Yes?”
“They were...I mean, I...”
“Use your words, Lexina.”
“I AM using my words!” Her voice pitched higher, cracking with frustration and embarrassment and eight years of feelings she’d never been allowed to express. “There just aren’t enough of them because I don’t—I’ve never—unlike YOU, some of us didn’t spend six years flying to Milan every month doing whatever with your—your COMPANION—”