“No.”
That surprises me.
“I expect you to need proof.”
I fold my arms.
“Good answer.”
He slowly stands.
Giving me plenty of room.
“What are you doing?”
“I'm giving you proof, but I gotta ask you not to scream.”
I bark out a laugh.
“Oh, sure.”
He doesn't smile.
“I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
“I don't want to frighten you.”
“You already have.”
“Shit.I’m so sorry, Honey,” he says, and instead of being angry with him, I just feel bad now.
He seems so sincere.
“Rand, we don’t have to do this,” I say, because really, what proof can he possibly have?
He cants his head to the side and watches me—and there it is.
Silent resignation.
My pulse starts to speed up, and so does my anxiety.
Then I throw my hands in the air.
“You know what?Fine.”
“What?”
“Show me.Prove it to me, Hot Shot.”
His face falls.
“Honey, please.”
“No.”
I shake my head.
