“No, I didn’t. And I’m not going to.” Her voice was hard, brooking no argument.

I furrowed my brow, scratching the scruff on my jaw. Evie hadn’t exactly gotten along with her parents back then, but this was on a whole other level. There was teenage angst, that whole butting-heads-with-your-parents thing, and then there was this. Letting them think she was dead? That seemed a little extreme.

“Never? But why—”

“I said they don’t know and they’re never going to. End of discussion.” She stood from the couch and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her and effectively shutting out any response I’d have.

Before, Evie hadn’t ever liked talking about her parents, had avoided it at all costs, but that was nothing compared to the way she’d just slammed the door on my questioning.

The fact that she shut it down so forcefully made me wonder how worried she was … if concern over her parents’ well-being was what had made her run in the first place.

Chapter Ten

EVIE

Despite my exhaustion, sleep still wouldn’t come. Riley had crashed on the couch a bit ago, and in our near proximity, I could hear his smooth, even breathing. Listening to it brought back memories of a time so long ago, a time when I’d crash at his place—anything so I didn’t have to go home—and he’d curl himself around me, the two of us smashed on the couch because he and Gage had only been able to afford a one-bedroom apartment. Like it was yesterday, I could remember the feeling of having him pressed up behind me as he slept, his arms the only solace I’d ever known, all warmth and comfort wrapped up in a lanky kid.

He wasn’t that lanky kid anymore.

He was anger and aggression and determination, the past five years having changed him so much from the boy I’d once known.

It was nearing dawn, the earliest whispers of light brushing against the sky and filling the loft with pale light. I stared at the ceiling and thought about my and Riley’s last interaction, right before we’d crashed for the night. When he’d brought up my parents. Brought up the two people I had no desire to think of ever again.

Riley had always been astute, especially when it came to me. He’d always been able to read me, knowing my signs, sensing my emotions. But with my parents, he’d assumed it was standard adolescent angst, just run-of-the-mill teenage bullshit, and I’d never corrected him. He’d never known the issues I’d had with my parents. I hadn’t told him, and he hadn’t pushed.

He’d never pushed me in anything—not back then. He’d always let me take the reins, let me lead in our relationship. Now, though, that was something else that was different. Something else about him that had changed. He would never be satisfied letting someone else lead, that much was clear in the little bit we’d interacted.

And that worried me, because if he pushed on this … if he didn’t take my short answers at face value, wasn’t satisfied with them like he’d always been before, a whole host of shit I didn’t want to talk about—especially with him, never with him—was going to be staring me down, looking me right in the eyes.

And I’d have no choice but to tell him. To reveal the secrets I’d worked so hard to hide.

The secrets I’d tried so hard to run from.

RILEY

With the loft being so open, it was hard to hide out, but Evie had managed to do it all morning. She’d woken up, headed into the bathroom, showered, and changed into different clothes. Then she’d parked herself on the bed, phone in hand, doing whatever it was she needed to do. Whether she was reading a book on there or surfing the Web or, more probably, talking to her fiancé, I didn’t know.

The thought of that guy—Eric—made my jaw tighten, my shoulders tense. It’d been five years, and I certainly hadn’t abstained from relationships during that time, though relationships wasn’t exactly accurate. After Evie … after learning of her death, I’d slipped into an easy pattern of fuck and flee, and I’d never really gotten out of it. All the women I’d been with had been aware of how I worked, were in it for the same thing I was—physical release. Because after Evie, I’d figured I’d already used up my one chance to connect with someone so much. I’d had it and lost it, and that was it for me.

Seemed she didn’t quite think the same.

When the silence that had filled the loft all damn day finally got to be too much, I asked, “What have you told Eric?”

She snapped her head up, her eyes wide as she looked at me. I didn’t need any kind of answer from her, because her eyes said it all—that panicked stare focused directly on me.

“None of it?” I raised my eyebrows.

Averting her attention to the bed, she avoided my gaze again, but I was tired of being shut out by her. We were stuck here together until we figured a way out of this fucking mess she’d gotten us in, and I wasn’t about to spend it talking to a goddamn wall.

“So he has no idea your real name is Evie Masterson.”

“I’m not Evie. I’m Genevieve.”

“Bullshit you are. That’s a role you play, simple as that.”

She laughed then, a hollow sound, too dark and sinister coming from such a sweet mouth. “Oh, Riley. I’ve been playing a role for a hell of a lot longer than five years.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Ignoring—or avoiding—my question entirely, she said, “No, he doesn’t know any of it. And he won’t, not if I have a choice in the matter.”

“And what if you don’t? What if Max takes that choice away from you?”

She blew out a breath, sank back to the pillow propped against the wall at the head of the bed. “Then I guess I’ll figure it out if that happens.”

I turned around on the couch, hanging my arm over the back, and faced her more directly. “Does he even know where you are?”

“He knows I’m away from home…” She trailed off, her gaze going to the window next to the bed. “He just doesn’t know where or why.”

“And he doesn’t ask?”

Shaking her head, she said, “Our relationship isn’t really like that…”

“You’re engaged to marry him, but you don’t tell each other where you are?” Granted, I’d never been engaged, so what the fuck did I know? But it just seemed to me that was exactly what two people desperately in love with each other would do. In fact, people desperately in love usually couldn’t stand to be away from each other. Which raised another question entirely. “Why aren’t you in London with him? Why’d you stay behind?”

She crossed her arms, her chin jutting up, eyes hard. “I’m not sure it’s really any of your business what I do and don’t discuss with my fiancé or why I do or don’t do things with him.”

I stared at her for a minute, at that defiant glint in her eyes, the hard set of her shoulders, and clenched my jaw, my fists tightening. I didn’t know why her avoidance of my questions bothered me so much. More than that, I didn’t know why I wanted to know the answers so damn bad in the first place. No good could possibly come from delving into her life like that, finding out what made her tick now. Or from learning detailed accounts of what she did and didn’t do with her fucking fiancé.

Giving her a short nod, I said, “You’re absolutely fucking right. Forget I said a word.”

I turned my back on her, though I wanted to do more than that. What I wanted was to storm out, slam the door, and go for a long ride on my bike. Or hit a punching bag until I’d exhausted myself. Or go for a hard, grueling run until I’d cleared my goddamn head. Or fuck out every ounce of aggravation and irritation and frustration I had thrumming through my veins … Instead, I was stuck here, in this too-small loft, with the one girl I never thought I’d see again, the one girl I’d loved and lost … The one girl who’d always managed to turn me inside fucking out.