Page 133 of Spies, Lies, and Alibis
I return the kiss—deep, grateful, and filled with all the promises of everything we survived to get here.
When he pulls back, he’s breathless. His cheeks are tinged pink and the longing in his eyes tells me he wants more. But his expressionis shifting—his smile fading into something sharp. Focused. It’s his federal agent pose and it’s stupidly attractive.
He checks his watch and then looks at me. “Everything’s ready. Are you?”
The Solace Summit Gala, an annual black-tie affair dedicated to “honoring those who make the world a better place.” Which, in tonight’s case, includes one very polished con artist who’s minutes away from a very public undoing.
Celeste Harlowe stole millions under the guise of helping families invest in their future—then vanished with their money. But tonight, with the help of the FBI, the charade ends.
She thinks she’s getting an award, but it’ll be a shiny pair of handcuffs instead.
This won’t undo what’s already been lost. Won’t bring back the money. Won’t erase the heartbreak she’s caused. But if no one elsebecomes one of her victims, then that’s a win you can measure in dollars.
I look at Ben—my partner, my beginning—and nod. “Let’s finish it.”
I take his offered arm and we ascend the marble steps. Tonight the pavilion is bathed in warm amber light, its dramatic floor-to-ceiling windows revealing flashes of crystal chandeliers, sculptural floral displays, and the city’s most polished socialites drifting past white-gloved waiters with flutes of champagne. Strings play something sweeping and rich.
Only a month ago, I walked into a gala like this thinking control was the only thing that kept me safe. That if I wasn’t composed and capable and two steps ahead, I’d become the girl people whispered about. The risk. The chaos. The one who couldn’t be counted on.
I built my life proving I wasn’t like my mom. That what I’d overheard Ben say years ago—even if he didn’t mean it—wasn’t true.
Control isn’t the same thing as security. And perfection doesn’t equal worth.
That voice in my head still fights dirty, still tells me if I’m notmanaging everything perfectly, I’m not enough. But I’m not fighting it alone anymore. Not when I have people who show up. Who stay when things get messy. Risky.
Ben. Joy. Marcos. Even Earl. Not because I made them—but because they chose to. Each of them a reminder that maybe I’m not the risk I thought I was.
Unless, of course, I choose to be...
At the entryway, a hostess flashes us a rehearsed smile. “Names?”
Ben and I glance at each other. A shared look. A silent pact that says we’re on this adventure together.
I smile back at the hostess and say, without missing a beat, “Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”
