Page 7 of This Beautiful Lie
Regrettably, I’d let myself forget the rules. Forget what this was. Forgot why I was here… But he hadn’t. Not for a second.
I was a service. A transaction.
"What the hell was that all about?" I muttered, grabbing the envelope and slipping it into my clutch before anyone could see it.
The look he gave me was unreadable. Cool, but not cruel.
"I needed to make sure you weren’t crazy."
I blinked. Because of all the things he might have said, that wasn’t what I was expecting.
It made sense.
He was trusting me to step into his life and not make him look like a fool. To blend in with women who dripped in diamonds and looked like they walked off the pages of Vogue.
Of course he had questions. Of course he wanted to make sure I wasn’t crazy.
The bartender slid my martini across the counter, and I reclaimed my seat and took a long sip, welcoming the burn of vodka I hoped would loosen the knot between my shoulders. “How can you be sure I’m not crazy?" I asked.
A dimple appeared on his cheek, visible even through his beard. “I can’t, but you seem normal enough."
“Normal?” I nearly choked. I’d never been normal in my life. I almost laughed in his face, but then his gaze held mine—steady and unreadable, with just enough heat to make my skin tighten.
I crossed my legs in his direction, just as he slid a card across to the bartender and instructed him to close out his tab.
"Follow me,” he said as he signed the receipt and slipped the card back into his wallet.
Two words. Low. Commanding. Like a man used to being obeyed?—
Then he walked away, broad shoulders cutting through the crowd like a born leader.
I watched him go, my stubborn streak begging for me not to follow. But did l listen?
Absolutely not.
Three
He movedthrough the room with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times.
The music thumped, people got in his way, but he never hesitated. He moved like the crowd wasn’t an obstacle—it parted without him even having to ask.
I thought about turning back a half-dozen times, but I couldn’t. The truth was, I was a fish on his line, too damned curious for my own good.
Confidence dripped off every muscle. He didn’t look back––Not even once.
He walked like a man with purpose. Effortless, unshaken, like a man who knew exactly who he was and where he was going.I wasn’t sure if that fact thrilled or terrified me, but I was pretty sure it was a combination of the two—because my skin prickled with goosebumps with every step I took.
I followed from ten steps behind, watching the way he moved—shoulders square, posture flawless, every step was fluid. Then he turned a corner, and I had to quicken my pace to keep from losing him.
I was slightly out of breath when I caught up, at the end of a dimly lit hall in front of the gardens. He stood in front of awindow, where stained glass cast colors of blue, green, and red across his stoic features.
“I’m nervous,” he said.
His voice was so quiet, I thought I’d misheard him.
“What?” I asked, half-laughing. What could he possibly be nervous about?
Then he turned to me, and his eyes caught the light—dark and honest, in a way that made it hard to look away.
