“No,” Devlin says, his turquoise gaze never leaving mine.
“What about Dolly?” I ask.
He draws back a bit, like he didn’t expect that, and I watch the guards shutter up his eyes like windows. “What about her?”
“She’s my friend,” I say. “I don’t want to get in the middle of anything messy.”
The corners of Devlin’s lips quirk up, but it’s a bitter smile. “It’s a little late for that, Sugar. You’re already right in the middle of a lot of messy shit, and not just with her family and mine.”
“Do you still love her?”
“No,” he says simply.
I wait for him to go on, but he doesn’t.
“But…?” I prod.
He rolls onto his back and covers his eyes with a forearm. “Our families meant us for each other.”
“Meantyou for each other?” I ask. “Like, an arranged marriage?”
Dolly already told me basically the same thing about their relationship, but damn. This isn’t the 1800s.
“Don’t sound so shocked,” he says. “I thought you said the south was just like the mafia.”
I don’t know how to respond to that. My parents are far from perfect, but they definitely never picked a man I was going to marry one day. As far as Daddy’s concerned, I’m pretty sure he hoped I’d join a convent and die a virgin.
For a while, we’re quiet. This time, Devlin speaks first. “What did Preston do to you?”
“Nothing,” I say. “I mean, he did what you saw. He didn’t touch me. He just said that to get to you.”
“It fucking worked,” Devlin mutters. He moves his arm from over his eyes, using it to pillow his head instead. “And he better be glad he didn’t touch you, or he’d be losing a finger.”
I scoot closer, lay a hand on his bare chest. “I’m guessing he knows that, even if it hasn’t been that way with your other… Dogs.”
He scowls at the ceiling. “If he didn’t before, he knows now.”
“What happened to the last Darling Dog?”
“She’s your friend. Ask her.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
He sighs. “She moved back to Oklahoma.”
“And the one before that?”
“Faulkner.”
“She left school? Is she still at Faulkner High?”
“I… Don’t know. Maybe.”
“Was she from out of town, too?” I ask. “Is that how you pick? When someone new starts at Willow Heights?”
“No,” he says. “It’s not about being new. It’s about not falling in line.”
“Dixie didn’t fall in line?” I ask.