Page 92 of The Professor's Wife

“Whatever you do, keep death in mind.”

Tristan slid in beside me, his gaze quickly latching onto the paper in my hand. I felt the blood drain from my face.

Cold and clammy, I whimpered, “Your friend was right. I have so many secrets, Tristan. So many. Oh, God—”

Without saying a word, he ripped the page from my hand and threw it out the window.

We were back on the road a moment later.

Tristan sped out of town and didn’t stop driving. He held my hand the whole time, gripping me tightly like he thought I might disappear.

“I had a dream, Daisy.”

I opened my eyes and stared emptily at the ceiling of the van. It was so dark, I couldn’t see. I stretched out an arm, searching for Tristan. I touched his side, and his hand immediately shot up to wrap around mine.

“How late is it?” I rasped.

“Past midnight,” he answered quietly.

I ran a hand down my face. “I can’t even remember today…”

“You had a rough day.”

“I went a little crazy, didn’t I?”

“You were in a bad place.”

My voice was small. “Did I black out again?”

“You weren’t very responsive at times.”

“Did I…” I swallowed hard. “Did I do anything bad?”

“Aside from ripping the pages out of an old man’s book, no.”

I groaned, ashamed. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was only Seneca. Relax.”

A sudden laugh escaped me. “OnlySeneca?”

“Do you think he cares that you tore that book apart? He’s been dead a while.”

“But that woman—”

“She’s not pissed that she didn’t sell the used book for three bucks, Daze. She enjoyed every minute of your breakdown. You know how these people are. Small town, hot woman tearing pages out of a book—”

“Seneca’sbook—”

“You’ll be fun gossip in her tea circle, and yeah, once again, it was Seneca. So what?”

“Seneca, Tristan.”

His body shifted beside me. Within seconds, the overhead light came on. I shut my eyes against it, wincing. When I managed to keep them open, Tristan was staring at me, and he didn’t look like he’d slept a wink.

“Were you part of some Seneca cult?” he asked dryly.

“I just think there are some books you don’t rip pages out of,” I whispered before cringing. “You must think I’m insane.”