“So far I’m not seeing a lot of difference between me and a carnival con-man.”

“Oh, stop,” I said. He could make me laugh even with the most serious of topics. “You know what I mean. And you’re also one of the most fiercely loyal people I know—and caring, no matter how much you pretend otherwise. I see the way you look after Jill. Not many people would’ve traveled across the country to help her. And almost no one would have done what you did to save her life.”

Again, Adrian took a while to respond. “But what are loyal and caring really worth?”

“To me? Everything.”

There was no hesitation in my answer. I’d seen too much backstabbing and calculation in my life. My own father judged people not by who they were but by what they could do for him. Adrian did care passionately about others underneath all of his bravado and flippancy. I’d seen him risk his life to prove it. Considering I’d had someone’s eye cut out to avenge my sister… well. Devotion was definitely something I could appreciate.

Adrian didn’t say anything else for the rest of the drive, but at least I didn’t get the impression he was brooding anymore. Mostly he seemed thoughtful, and that wasn’t so concerning. What did make me a little uneasy was that I often caught sight of him studying me in my periphery. I replayed what I’d said over and over in my mind, trying to figure out if there’d been anything to warrant such attention.

Adrian’s father was staying at a sprawling San Diego hotel with a vibe similar to the resort Brayden and I had eaten breakfast at. Businessmen in suits mingled with pleasure seekers in tropical prints and flip-flops. I’d almost worn jeans to breakfast and was glad now for my choice of a gray skirt and short-sleeved blouse with a muted blue and gray print. It had a tiny ruffled trim, and the skirt had a very, very faint herringbone pattern. Normally, I wouldn’t have worn such contrasting textures together, but I’d liked the boldness of the look. I’d pointed it out to Jill before I left the dorm for breakfast. It’d taken her a while to even find the contrasting textures, and when she did, she’d rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Sydney. You’re a real rebel.”

Meanwhile, Adrian was in one of his typical summer outfits, jeans and a button-up shirt—though of course the shirt was untucked, with the sleeves rolled up and a few top buttons undone. He wore that look all the time, and despite its casual façade, he often made it appear dressy and fashionable. Not today, however. These were the most worn-out jeans I’d ever seen him wear—the knees were on the verge of having holes. The dark green shirt, while nice quality and a perfect match for his eyes, was wrinkled to inexplicable levels. Sleeping in it or tossing it on the floor wouldn’t achieve that state. I was pretty sure someone would have to actually crumple it into a ball and sit on it for it to look that bad. If I’d noticed it back at Amberwood (and hadn’t been so distracted getting him away from Brayden), I would’ve insisted on ironing the shirt before we left.