Page 26 of The Code of You

Dante:

Adrian didn’t see you. Not really. He saw a pretty grad student. A trophy.

Dante:

I see you. The woman who reads stories about domination at night because she’s desperate to give up control.

Dante:

You’re not broken, Pandora. You just haven’t been found yet.

My vision blurred. Warmth spread through my chest, moved up into my shoulders, wrapped around me like a coat. His words felt good. They were putting something back together inside me that had been broken.

Pandora:

I don’t need anyone. Least of all you.

Dante:

Is that the lie you tell yourself?

Pandora:

No. It’s the truth.

Dante:

When you lie, your pupils dilate by two millimeters. Your nostrils flare. Your hands don’t move the way they usually do.

My throat went tight. Goosebumps broke out along my arms. I ran my hands over them, as if I could prove him wrong.

Dante:

Do you know how beautiful you are, Pandora?

Heat climbed up the back of my neck and burned the tips of my ears. I looked down at the keyboard. He . . . thought I was beautiful. Why did that affect me? Why did I care what he thought of me?

Dante:

Your chestnut hair that falls in waves over your shoulders. Your eyes, as dark as a winter night.

My heart was beating faster than I wanted it to. God. He could be charming. Dangerously charming. I shook my head. No. I couldn’t let him talk to me like this.

Pandora:

Where’d you get that?

Pandora:

Some cheesy rom-com? A pickup-artist handbook?

Dante:

I don’t need movies. I don’t need ridiculous handbooks. I perceive so much more than any human could.

Dante:

Your cheekbones fall almost exactly at the golden ratio. Your face is nearly perfectly symmetrical—except your left eyebrow. It’s off by a fraction. Just enough to make you interesting.