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He looks up at me, eyes serious. “Okay, Rabbit. I promise.”
I smile, holding out my hand. “Let’s dance, Beck.”
He sighs, rising. “Only for you, and if you ever tell the others, I’ll deny it.”
And then we dance. Hidden away in the rose garden, away from everyone else. It almost feels as if we are doing something wrong. Like we’re dancing in sin.
* * *
I lay in my bed,posing in one of Beckett’s sweaters as he sketches me. His other sketches, including the one I tried to steal, hang on the wall in elegant frames. My theory is he has more, probably dirty ones. I watch him sketch. It’s something I’ve always loved to do. He looks so focused, but when he looks up, his mouth twitches. “Go ahead, little rabbit. Ask me.”
I release a breath. “How are my parents connected to The Misfits? The only thing I can find online is their obituaries, which are extremely bland with little to no information.”
“Tilt your chin up again for me, baby,” he says. I follow the command. “Our parents were co-owners of the business. It was Cutler and Archer, but once the murder happened, we erased everything to protect you. Whoever murdered your parents are still out there.”
Cold energy shifts through my bones as sadness overtakes me. “You don’t know who did it?”
He shakes his head, his pencil moving in smooth strokes. “The only person who does is you. Do you remember anything?”
“Only bits and pieces of what happened after, nothing from before. And I only recently started to remember. It’s like dense fog up there when I try to remember how.”
He sits his sketchbook on his lap, looking at me with soft eyes. “If you don’t want to remember, you don’t have to. Vance and I won’t allow anyone to force you.”
I smile. “Thank you.”
He picks the sketchbook back up and I find watching him arousing. “Stop it,” he chastises.
I blink. “Stop what?”
“Your lust-filled eyes, Rabbit. They’re highly distracting.”
“Stop being so attractive,” I toss back.
His lips twitch. “Impossible, but I’ll try.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, but then I ask, “People are still dying, huh?”
He pauses, before answering, “Yes.”
“Because of me.”
He tosses the sketch to the ground, pulling me into his lap. “No. People are dying because some sick fucker is killing them. Not because they have a sick obsession with you.”
I lay my head on his shoulder. “I heard what Vance said to you in Washington.” He stiffens. “If I turn myself over, the killing will stop and—”
“Don’t talk like that. I have a plan, and I think we can catch him.”
My fingers run through the back of his hair. “What is it?”
“I’ll tell you when it’s time. Now, we need to go shopping. As much as that kills me, you need a dress and I need a shirt that matches.”
“What for?” I ask, intrigued.
“Fucking Amiyah,” he grumbles. “We have a Misfits gala tonight. To welcome the new members.”
“I don’t think I’ll fit in there.”
He laughs. “You’re The Misfits’ princess, you were born to rule it.”
