He shrugs. “Mine broke down in Boston and I had the garage ship it back to the island, but then we came here so…”
What the fuck? “But we’re just stopping by. Are you planning on moving to Florida soon?”
“No, of course not. I’ll have the new bike delivered back to the island as soon as we’re done.”
“From Jacksonville to Vineyard Haven?”Or wherever we’ll be after we get out of this state. “Is that even possible?”
He shrugs again, like having a motorcycle shipped across states is no big deal. “Anything is possible for the right amount of money, not that it’s expensive to ship bikes. It’s like a grand or so, with insurance.”
I stare at him. “You throw a grand or so to ship a bike you don’t even need? Are you in the mafia or something?”
“What? No.” He laughs.
“Just how rich are you?”
“Rich enough.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He dismisses Brandon and turns back to me, his smirk returning. “What do you want to know? Net worth? Assets? Stock portfolio?”
“I want to know what kind of rich you are.” Blake comes to mind, and the way money has poisoned everything between us.
“My money is legit, Birdie. The military pays well and so does security work. When you risk your life every minute on the job, it’d better make you loaded.”
“Good to know, but that’s not really what I meant.”
“Okay. Well, then I’m the kind of rich that can take care of someone as wealthy as you without ever needing to touch a dime of hers. The kind that, if you were mine, you wouldn’t have to sell your soul to publishers who control you, kill yourself for meeting deadlines or attend another event you were forced into ever again. The kind that,if you were mine, you’d be free to be whoever you wanted, do whatever you wanted without a single worry.”
His eyes beg me not only to understand what he’s offering but to take it. The picture of life he’s painting for us, one I’ve never dared to dream of.
He approaches me, his face softening, yet dead serious. “The kind that,if you were mine, it would be because I loved and wanted you, not because of what you could give me.”
My breath catches in my throat. The way he says it—if you were mine—like it’s not a possibility but an inevitability. If you were mine. Three times in a row, each carries more weight than the one before, a promise he’s made himself and would do anything to keep, no matter the danger or cost.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” I whisper, even though part of me—a lonely, desperate part—wants to believe every word.
“I know exactly what I’m saying.” His voice is low, rough. “I’ve known for a long time.”
“Tristan…” I start, but my voice comes out breathless.
He glances toward the laptop with its endless list of names, then back at me. “You’ve been cooped up in here for so long, staring at screens…” He gestures toward the door. “You wanna go for a ride? Get some air? Try the new bike with me?”
“I…”I can’t believe you let me off the hook so easily.I look at the monitor, at all those names I still need to go through. God, I’m so tired of being trapped in safe houses and hotels, tired of staring at screens and feeling like I’m drowning in suspects and suspicions. Then I look at Tristan, at the way he’s watching me like my answer matters more than it should.
“What do you say? Trust me for an hour before you come back and find out, of all three hundred and forty-seven names, mine is your stalker?”
I laugh under my breath. “How can I trust this is not your kidnapping me?”
“I’d be the dumbest kidnapper ever if I chose this city to take you. This is your hometown. You know it better than I do. You’ll know where to escape.”
“Fair point.”
“So? Show me around?”
“Eh, why not?” I say, as if I’m doing him a favor. As if I’m not desperate for that one hour of being free. Freedom, a big part of Tristan’s promise, of the life he’s picturing for us. Am I too naive to allow myself to want that? With someone like him?
A smile slithers its way to my face even though I know the answer is yes. I guess I’m too tired of fighting whatever this thing is between Tristan and me.
