Page 81 of Wicked Fortune

“It’s about the house.”

Her shoulders sag, and she groans. “Dammit, Ari. Not again. I know you’re spending a lot of nights at Matthew’s, but you can’t go away and forget⁠—”

“What? No! That was one time. One. Time.” I’d left for a long weekend of skiing at Mammoth, and I’d stupidly left behind two open cartons of fresh donuts. Which, apparently, is like making everything for free at Ikea. The latter would get swarms of college kids. The house got swarms of ants.

“No ants? No bugs? Please tell me it isn’t mice.”

“Jeez. Your house is pristine, okay? And it will stay that way until you find another renter.” I buff my nails on my shirt. “I’m moving into this very cool treehouse property in the hills. It comes with a roommate, but the terms are pretty sweet.”

I’m still talking when she leaps from her chair, and by the time I’m finished, she’s on my side of the table giving me a massive hug. “That’s awesome. My little girl is all grown up and living the good life.”

“I am,” I say. But I don’t tell her the rest of it. That part of me is afraid that the reason he wants me to move in is more about masking his feelings of guilt over the trafficking scheme than it is about the two of us.

Matthew finishes taping the last of the boxes, then straightens, rubbing his back as his gaze flicks around my bedroom. Not that it feels like mine anymore, what with my life packed up in eleven boxes and a bevy of suitcases.

“You meant it when you said you don’t have much stuff.” He folds the last empty box and leans it against the wall.

“Easier that way.” I shrug, taking a seat on the edge of the stripped bed, then scooting over so he can sit beside me. “Did I mention that I’ve moved apartments almost as often as I’ve changed jobs?”

“And why do you do that? Rent issues?”

“No. Not like you mean. But my dad pretty much sold his soul so that we wouldn’t lose the house after the diadem was stolen.”

A shadow crosses his face, and I squeeze his hand, touched by how deeply he empathizes with the pain in my past.

“Dad worked crazy hours and borrowed from people he shouldn’t have, just so he could pay the mortgage.”

Matthew frowns. “He told you that?”

“Well, not me. I was a kid. But I’d overhear things. Made me scared, you know?”

He frowns, his brow furrowing into a crease as he nods. “That must have been hard.”

I lean across him for the Diet Coke I’d left on the bedside table. “I swore I’d never be in that position even if that meant living in tiny efficiencies and always chasing the lowest rent.”

Matthew’s brow furrows, his expression so sad it almost breaks my heart the way he’s feeling my pain.

He tightens his arm around my waist, pulling me closer as he brushes my hair off my forehead. “But that ends now. You have a home with me.”

“I do,” I say, tilting my head up and smiling at him and hoping he can’t see how nervous I am. It’s not a side of me I want him—or anyone—to see. That hidden part of me that knows not to put my trust in anyone or anything because it always falls apart. The Stair Man. The Cat.

Nothing lasts. Not really. And wishing won’t change that at all.

Except you trust Matthew …

The thought pings at my mind, undeniably true, and while I wouldn’t change anything between Matthew and me, some part of me wonders when and how exactly he managed to squeeze through my defenses.

I don’t know, but he did. And for that, I will always be grateful. Because not only do I want him desperately, but the fact that I let him in gives me hope that I’m not irredeemably fucked up.

“—the job?”

I shake my head, realizing I’d zoned out. “Sorry. What?”

“I said that I get the frequent moves. What’s the backstory for your job shifts?”

I grin. “Boredom.”

He chuckles. “Fair enough.”