She licks her lips, dropping her gaze to the pier. After a second of silence, she nods. I nod for her to sit down and go through everything that I know—which chemicals work best for cleaning blood, for example—and then outline the best places that offer cover for bodies. Deep in the ocean with weights or hogs trained to eat human flesh are some of my favorites.
When I finish, she stares at me with a blank expression. Most girls would cringe, cover their face, blush, or make a comment at some point, but she sits quietly and listens to every word I say. It’s a strangely intimate moment to share with her, the chick who’s going to be my future wife based on a goddamn white lie.
But somehow, it seems like we understand each other. She realizes that I know what she’s done and that I’m trying to help her improve her method. And she’s willing to let me teach her.
Her fingers shake as she brushes them through her hair. “Thanks, Parker.”
“Sure.”
“Could you…” She trails off for a second, braiding and loosening the strands of her hair and then resuming the rhythmic brushing motion from seconds ago. “Could you drive me home?”
When I gesture to the exit of the boathouse, she stands from the chair and leads the way out. She crosses her arms over her chest while she slows her pace, waiting for me to join her side. I feel like reaching for her hand and telling her everything is going to be okay. Things will be different from here. I’ll make sure of that.
But I don’t. I unlock my car, pop open the passenger door, and then round the vehicle to drop into the driver’s seat. Alex slides into the seat next to me and buckles herself in, keeping her limbs tucked into her body. She’s still wearing a calm expression, but I can tell she’s a bit shaken by what I’ve told her.
Once I leave the drab, shrub-covered parking lot, she asks in a low voice, “How did you know I did it?”
“I didn’t. I guessed. You just confirmed it by telling me the truth.”
She falls silent. I can hear her picking her nails in her lap. That’s a new habit. Of all the annoying things Alex has ever done around me, this is the worst, making me grit my teeth so hard that I reach over and grab her hands to make her stop.
She clears her throat and whispers, “You gonna tell on me?”
“No.” I reluctantly release her hand and lean my elbow on the center console. “I don’t snitch on anybody.”
“Can I ask you something else?”
I shrug. “Go ahead.”
“Why do you hate me?”
And just like that, the picture I painted in my head about her is soiled. Everything I felt while looking at her and touching her contrasts with the rage that boils beneath the surface, years of resentment bubbling up in a matter of seconds.
The leather of the steering wheel squeaks as I squeeze it. “Felipe murdered my cousin because of something you said.” My jaw clenches. “Or did you conveniently forget?”
“I can’t recall, Parker. Can you tell me?”
The Moretti mansion comes into view. I don’t say a word to her until we’re parked. I reach across her lap, pop open the door, and say, “You’ll find out on our wedding day.”