May as well get right to the point. Suffering is not my favorite thing to do. “So. What did Violet say?”

She grips her knees so tightly her knuckles are white. She won’t look in my direction and that kills me. “I don’t know who he is.”

I frown. “What?”

“The guy downstairs. The one who said my name.” She shakes her head, then gazes out the window. “He’s not familiar.”

“That’s Mitchell. Mitchell Landers. His dad is some real estate mogul and his mom is on reality TV.” No joke. Mitchell’s parents are the real fucking big deal. His dad is a billionaire and his mom was on some weird shopping show that put her excessive spending habits on display for the entire country to see.

She’s still not looking at me, now keeping her gaze trained on her knees. “Oh.”

The silence hangs between us, bloated and full of tension, like a heavy, dark cloud just about to explode with thunder and lightning. My skin feels tight, my stomach is doing flips, and I can’t fucking stand it any longer.

“Rose.” She hangs her head farther when I say her name. “What did Violet say?”

“I don’t want to tell you.” Her voice is so quiet I almost can’t hear her. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

What? “You just said …” I blow out a harsh breath, resting my hands on my hips. Frustration runs through my veins. I don’t know how to handle this. “You said you wanted to talk about it. So let’s do it.”

“I don’t want to hear your side of it. Or hear you defend yourself and us end up getting into a fight. Not anymore. It’s just … wasted breath, you know? I don’t want any of that. Not tonight.” She lifts her head, her eyes meeting mine. “Why was Whitney sitting on your lap earlier, taking pictures and kissing your cheek?”

Ah, hell. I was really hoping she wouldn’t mention that. “How did you know about it?” I ask carefully, feeling as if I’m walking into a minefield and Rose has already set the trap.

Her lips thin. “She sent the photo to Violet and she showed it to me.”

Fuck me. Everyone’s out to screw me over, I swear. “Whit kissed my cheek and took the picture when she first showed up. I shoved her off my lap the minute I realized what she was doing.”

Rose’s gaze doesn’t waver from mine. “Why was she hanging on you when I first walked into the house?”

“I told you. She’s drunk. She’s high. She’d just done a few lines. And she’s pissed that I lost interest in her. She still tried to get me to have sex with her,” I say with a grimace. I’m being about as honest as I can get. If she wants to ask me anything else, I’ll tell her the truth. No matter what.

No matter how much she might end up hating me.

“I don’t like her at all.” She utters a little frustrated noise. “I don’t know why my sister is friends with her.”

I don’t get it, either. “When it comes to Whitney, you have nothing to worry about,” I reassure her.

“What about … anything else? Should I be worried?” Rose asks.

She’s being purposely vague. And I don’t want to say anything that’s unexpected or that will incriminate me. “When it comes to other women, I’m not interested. There is only you.” That statement I can stand by 100 percent. I don’t want anyone else. I don’t need anyone else.

Just Rose.

Her face almost crumples, like she wants to cry, but then her expression changes, becoming impassive in an instant. “Come here.” Her breath hitches. “Please.”

I go to her with apprehensive steps. What if she slaps my face? Kicks me in the balls with those killer heels she’s wearing? She could spit in my eye and I would take it. It would be the least I deserve for what I’ve kept from her. For what I’ve done to so many people these last few years. I justified my actions by saying my stealing hurt no one since all my marks were loaded already. They had insurance. Coverage for their loss.

Where was the coverage for my loss? For my mother’s loss? It disappeared when my dad jumped from that building. When he stole from his clients. Every inch of security we’d ever had was ripped from us with his actions. Actions he never had to truly face.

His unnecessary death is what has fueled me all this time. What helped me justify my actions. Twisted and all sorts of messed up, but it’s all I’ve got.

And it’s hard to face my wrongs in front of a woman who I never, ever want to disappoint.

Rose takes my hand when I stop in front of her, interlacing our fingers together. She tilts her head back so our gazes meet, and her golden eyes sparkle with unshed tears. The sight of those tears slays me dead and my chest cramps. With my other hand I cup her cheek, stroke her soft skin, and she leans into my touch, closing her eyes so the tears tangle in her lashes.

I hate what I’ve done to her. The torture I must have inflicted on her. The torture I’m about to put her through. It’s not fair. If I could take her pain away and make it mine, I would. In a heartbeat.

“I know what you’ve done,” she whispers, her eyes still closed as if she can’t look at me. “You don’t have to say anything else. You don’t have to explain yourself. Just know that … I know. Violet told me.”

Questions race through my mind, one after the other, coming at me rapid fire. How does Violet know anything? Who told her? And what exactly did she say to Rose?