Page 74 of Ruled By Rivalry

He let his knee bump mine once, his way of saying, Hey, you know me. Also, I’m here, if you want to talk.

“As long as I can remember, it’s always just been Mom and me. Everything I know, I know because she told me. So when she . . . died.” I swallowed thickly. “It was hard, you know?”

I wasn’t sure when he’d found my hand on the seat between us, but he squeezed it. “Of course.”

“My grandparents are awesome. I love them . . . and I should really call them more often,” I mumbled to myself. “But still. That first year was rough. I was a bitch, honestly. Not at all considerate of the fact they’d just lost their daughter.”

I was rambling. Not something that happened often, either. But just how I’d wanted to tell his family all the good things, it felt inevitable that I tell Elliot some of the bad, too. Like a sudden itch that hadn’t been scratched in so long, I’d forgotten it was there.

“We never talked about Mom or what happened or how we were feeling. I don’t blame them for preferring to ask about school instead.” A shrug, followed by a deep sigh as I let myself lean against the car window. A yawn later, I added, “So the only way to remember her was creating. All the sketches in her notebooks and the rogue sticky notes across the house. When I ran out of those, I started designing them myself. It went terribly.”

Elliot snickered gently. “I don’t believe that even for a second.”

“I swear!” But half my conviction was lost because I was barely awake anymore. Another yawn. “Give a thirteen-year-old a sketchbook and a dream . . .”

But I never finished the sentence.

One minute, I was telling Elliot about Mom, trying not to cry against a car window, and next thing I knew, my head was leaning on Elliot’s shoulder. His hand drove down the back of my head, and the way he straightened my hair against it felt familiar. Comfortable. Lovely. Like tonight hadn’t been about showing me how hard his life was.

Like it might’ve never been about that at all.

All that challenge demonstrated was that I had no idea who Elliot Ashwood really was, and that any preconceived notions might not have been . . . entirely fair.

“You’re right,” I muttered, sleep still slurring every part of my brain. The one that controlled my ability to shut up as well, apparently. To make it obvious I no longer wanted to talk about Mom, I admitted, “The entire week wasn’t as easy as I expected.” My eyes closed again, burying my head deeper into the crook of his neck. “Maybe I would’ve expected it, if you told me how full your calendar is, that it’s your fundraiser we’re going to, and that your family loves to argue.”

He hummed a laugh, deep and guttural. “Maybe.” It was another one of those ways I shouldn’t be witnessing him as: sleepy. “You’re awake?” he asked unnecessarily.

My eyes fluttered open again. Familiar brick buildings, distant traffic that reminded me of the white noise I heard through my window every night. The engine wasn’t roaring below us anymore, though. I did a double take, and we weren’t moving either. The tinted window between us and the driver was closed. Finally, I sat up.

“Think so.” I yawned. Stretched. Shook my head like it might shake the sleep out of me too. “Are we home?”

His lips tipped into a smile. “Mhm,” he breathed. “Have been for twenty minutes.”

“What?!”

“Didn’t want to wake you.” I only noticed he’d shifted halfway across the middle seat when he sat back up, and I tried to convince myself he hadn’t done that just so that I could sleep on his shoulder. Surely not.

“And you didn’t think I’d do that better in my own bed?”

“I considered carrying you.” And I could tell he meant it. “Ultimately, I doubted my ability to get you out of the car without waking you up.”

“Not your ability to carry someone up four flights of stairs?”

The look he shot me was almost comical. “I bench double whatever you weigh every week,” he deadpanned.

He didn’t seem to take the way I burst out laughing very well. “Sorry, sorry.” I waved his grim expression off. “It’s not that I don’t believe you’re strong—”

Elliot got out of the car, and as soon as he opened my door, I tried to salvage whatever I could. “I think you’re just underestimating how heavy a human being is!”

Or that there were human beings who weighed more than dainty, sweet Allegra Amato.

I couldn’t tell if he’d taken genuine offense, was playing around, or currently planning my disappearance. In a last-ditch effort, I said, “I’m kidd—”

Or tried to say.

The sentence was cut off. By a gasp, a squeal, an unidentifiable sound somewhere between the two as he threw me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing. Like, for a moment, I was dainty, sweet Maeve Peterson.

Into the car, Elliot shouted a “Thanks, Lewis!” to the driver, then slammed the door shut. His touch immediately burned through the fabric of my dress, and I was sure his handprint would be seared into the back of my thigh once he let me go. Which he seemed to have no intention of doing. His hand rode up higher until it was almost cupping my ass. I think he suppressed a groan, but over my wiggling and laughter, I couldn’t be sure.