“They’re gone,” she breathes. “No,” he murmurs, reaching up, thumb stroking her clavicle. “Just hidden. Does this please you?” She can’t lie to him. Even if she could do it convincingly, even if he wasn’t so well versed in spotting fictions from truths, she could never lie about this. Not to him. “Yes.” His fingers trace a line down her arm, curling around her palm. “I’m glad,” he says, before leaning in close. The lapels of his suit brush her chest, prompting goosebumps to dot her flesh. “But Anna, let it be known, I would rather see you as yourself.”
