But his face gave nothing away.
She watched him set the glass back on the table when she was done, and when he turned to her, she blurted out worriedly, “T-the party?”
“You don’t have to worry about it,” he answered briefly. “It’s all been taken cared of.”
Her heart squeezed as she translated his polite answer to one word: canceled. She gazed at him uncertainly, wondering if that was why he seemed so distant.
“I have a doctor waiting outside,” Angelo was saying, “and I would appreciate it if you allow him to check on you.”
Knowing he wasn’t really giving her a choice, she nodded.
“Good.” He stood up and left the room, and unease stirred inside of her. This tension...it didn’t feel like it was just about the party anymore. Something was really wrong. She just wished she knew what it was.
When the door opened again, it was the doctor, and the usual questions were asked. She answered them calmly and truthfully. She knew, after tonight, there was no point hiding anything. When the doctor departed, Angelo came back a few moments later.
She looked at him, and Lane thought, He knew.
And he did.
Angelo lowered himself back on the padded chair next to her bed. “Do you want the good news or bad news first?”
“Good,” she said automatically.
“You’re not suffering from any concussion, and after a good night’s sleep, the doctor believes you’ll be back to normal by tomorrow.”
“And the bad?”
He said without hesitation, “You might be crazy, after all.”
She choked and laughed at the same time, not at all expecting someone like Angelo Valencia to make such a joke. But he did, and it worked, the atmosphere in the room easing.
When her laughter faded, he asked gently, “Would you like to tell me what made you panic like that? And this time, there were no cars around.”
She winced. “I lied about that. I’m sorry.”
“I figured as much.” His voice was matter-of-fact.
“Are you mad?” The words came out haltingly, and her hands moved restlessly under the covers as she spoke.
“Of course not.” And there it was again, that odd note of reserve, like he was deliberately putting a wall between them. “But I would like to know what happened, if you’re comfortable talking about it.”
She swallowed, realizing that the time had come to lay all of her crazy cards on the table.
And after—-
After, it was up to Angelo to decide.
“I h-have a social anxiety disorder.” Cold sweat bathed Lane’s skin as she admitted the truth, and she had a perverse, childish urge to hide under the covers.
If only she could close her eyes and wish they were back to being normal.
If only.
But the pain in her heart – it wasn’t the good kind of pain, not the kind that Angelo made her feel and crave.
This pain...was cruel.
This pain told her what she wanted was impossible.
This pain told her she would always be sick.
Taking a deep breath, she continued, “My anxiety is a s-special form of plutophobia—-” Lane saw Angelo’s head snap towards her, his gaze incredulous.
“Are you saying you’re afraid of money?”
She forced herself to meet his gaze. “Not exactly.” The way he stared at her made Lane’s fists clench, but she pressed on doggedly, “I’m more afraid of rich people.”
Silence.
And then it was as if shock had shorn Angelo of his usually unfailing courtesy as he demanded, “Are you fucking serious?”
Lane flinched.
“Rich people? You’re afraid of rich people?”
She gave him a small nod.
“Rich people...like me?”
Paling, she nodded again.
“Dio, Lane.” Frustration underlined Angelo’s voice. “That’s the worst illness you could possibly suffer from in my home. You know that, right?”
“Y-yes.” She bit her lip to keep it from trembling.
He raked a hand through his hair. “And what about CU? What the hell did you even think you were doing, enrolling in a school like CU?”
“It w-works like my therapy,” Lane answered stiltedly. “Sort of like confronting your fears until you get used to it.” Her voice trailed off at the way he was looking at her, which told her he might have her certified any moment.
Angelo was staring hard at her. “And that time in the car?” he asked finally, his voice grim.
She could see in his gaze that he had already figured out, and she said tremulously, “I know it’s stupid, but it was only that moment I realized you were rich—-”
“Didn’t you even think of looking me up on the Internet?”
“I try not to use the Internet to search for people. It’s just unnecessary...trauma.”
Silence.
And then Angelo asked tautly, “Are you still afraid of me?”
Slowly, she shook her head.
“But you were afraid of me earlier?”
She nodded.
“What changed?”
“You laughed.”
He stared at her. “Is this crazy language?”
A nervous giggle escaped her. “N-no. I mean, your laugh. It reminds me of a fallen angel.”
“Still crazy language?”
She tried to explain. “It was what drew me to you t-that first day. The sound of your laugh, it was refreshingly—-” Lane hesitated.