I sank to the floor, stunned. After everything, how could he honestly believe I had deliberately tried to fool him? I’d told him so much about myself last night—hell, the past week. No, I hadn’t held up a neon sign, declaring I was Elaine H. fucking Ford, but I’d confessed it to him. I’d confessed a whole hell of a lot more than that. That had certainly been the quickest relationship I’d ever been in. And, somehow, it was also the most profound. Oliver had hidden nothing of himself. I knew that not telling him after the first night hadn’t been my finest moment, but damn it…I had enjoyed the fact that he liked me for who I was, and psycho Elaine had had no part of it. Up until last night, I’d held back simply because he’d inadvertently questioned my mental frame of mind. I’d already dealt with that enough as a child, and I had done years of therapy to make sure I wasn’t a cracked egg. Heartsore, I picked myself up and stood for a few minutes, staring at the door he’d slammed out of.
