"The upper floor only has three rooms," I say, words tumbling out as we step inside. "One's the master's bedroom, this one, the other is a guestroom, and the last is… technically my closet. I mean, I do have a closet in here, but I own a lot of things. Shoes, bags, jewelry, clothes. A tragic amount, really. They won't fit in just one small space."
I stop rambling the moment I realize he hasn't responded.
Greg stands in the middle of the room, impossibly out of place in his white dress shirt, black slacks, and black vest. The room is unmistakably feminine with pale pink walls, sheer white-and-blush curtains catching the light, while he looks dark and somber, like he's wandered straight into enemy territory without backup.
"You sleep here alone?" he asks.
He glances at me then, and there's something in his eyes that tells me he'd know if I lied.
Why would I lie anyway? Is that even something people lie about?
