Page 17 of This Beautiful Lie
Dean met my gaze, steady and unapologetic. “Nothing is private, Em.”
The air thinned between us. The room seemed to shrink until every sound—every heartbeat—echoed too loudly in my ears.
“You have to understand,” he said softly. “I couldn’t bring you here without knowing who you really are. This is too important to me.”
But I didn’t understand.
I’d spent years building walls, separating my name from my past, my truth from my work. And with a single choice, Dean had gone around every barrier I’d built.
My throat tightened. “Don’t call me again.”
“Em—”
I turned, my heels striking the marble in sharp, uneven bursts.
“Em!” he called again.
But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.
Because for the first time in years, I wasn’t in control.
And that terrified me.
Six
I slammedmy apartment door shut and went straight to the freezer.
The Häagen-Dazs Cookies and Cream sat faithfully on the second shelf, and I snatched it out a little too aggressively. Like a dependable old friend, it didn’t ask questions. Not even when I got into a tug-of-war with the utensil drawer that refused to give up a single spoon.
“Fuck!” I yelled, slamming the drawer with the side of my fist.
And that’s when I saw it.
The ring.
Still on my finger.
The one I’d forgotten to give back.
All the anger, the frustration, the adrenaline that had carried me home drained from my body in an instant. My back hit the wall, and my legs gave out beneath me.
The kitchen light was dim, but the diamond still sparkled—like it didn’t know it had come from Amazon. Like it hadn’t been picked out for show. Like it thought it actually meant something.
My head lolled back against the cabinet, and I closed my eyes, but it was no use. The memory slipped through the cracks, uninvited and vivid.
Dean’s hand, sliding the ring onto my finger. The way he’d looked at me when he did it—steady, certain, like it was more than a game.
I hated how it had made me feel.
There was a time I used to dream about this. A ring on my finger. A man who loved me. A family of my own. I’d given up on it a long time ago, but tonight made me realize those dreams still lingered in quiet corners. Buried, but not gone.
I still believed in love. I’d seen it—real, messy, unconditional love. For Jake and Katie. For John and Tuesday. But me?
I was different. Broken in ways I didn’t know how to explain…
Not even wanted by my own damn mother.
The thought caused the ache in my chest to deepen, to curl around my ribs like a giant fist.
