Page 72 of Where the Snakes Sleep

“Of course.”

“And this does not mean you get to start being weird.”

“I suspect your definition of weird makes that promise impossible.”

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it—small, wet, and embarrassing. “Shut up.”

His eyes soften.

“I just mean… whatever this is.”

Camille’s expression becomes unreadable. Not closed. Almost the opposite. Too open in places I don’t know how to interpret.

“This isn’t just fucking anymore, is it?” The question falls out before I can reconsider.

Camille says nothing for several seconds. Then, very quietly, “No.”

My heart kicks, and I look away immediately. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes. Don’t make it a thing.”

“I believe you just made it a thing.”

“Camille.”

“I will stop.”

“Thank you.”

Another silence stretches between us, but it’s different now, heavy rather than awkward, dense with all the words neither one of us is prepared to use.

“I am sorry,” he murmurs again.

“For what?”

“For deciding which truths you’re permitted to have. For withholding what I knew about Alberte and Henri.” His openness—an unfamiliar vulnerability—makes my chest ache.

“I don’t need you to protect me from information. And you definitely don’t need to lie.”

His thumb hovers over my knuckles. “I will not lie to you.”

I hold his gaze. “No more omissions meant to deceive.”

Camille looks genuinely miserable now, which should make me feel vindicated; it doesn’t. “Ryan… I…”

My voice stays quiet. “I’m not asking you to tell me every secret you’ve ever had. You’re allowed to have privacy. I have things I’m not ready to talk about too. But if something involves me—my house, my grandfather, whatever the fuck is going on with Henri—then I need to know. And if something changes between us, I need you to tell me that too.”

“What do you mean? Changes between us?”

“If you decide this is getting too complicated. If you don’t want me anymore. If you meet somebody else. If I’m annoying the shit out of you and you want me to stop showing up at your door.”

“Ryan.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” His answer comes with enough force to stop me. His voice is lower when he says, “There is no one else.”