Page 57 of This Beautiful Lie
A deep chuckle rumbled in my ear. “I was thinking the same thing,” he said, taking my hand until he spun me off the dance floor and toward the edge of the deck.
That’s when our eyes met—and I stared in shock at a man whodefinitelywasn’t Dean.
He was tall like Dean, almost as good-looking, but had big blue eyes and hair the color of bricks. “I’m so sorry,” I stumbled out. “I thought you were Dean.”
He grinned in reply, then pulled two beers from the cooler and handed one to me. “Happens all the time.”
“I’m Mason,” he added. “Dean’s younger––and better-looking––cousin.”
My face went warm, but I took a hefty swig of my beer and turned in the opposite direction.
Mason was handsome, yes—broad shoulders, sun-browned skin—but better looking than Dean? I had to disagree. Dean was appealing in a way that was hard to describe. He was the kind of man that didn’t try, didn’t flex, but ended up with everyone's attention anyway.
“You must be Vivienne,” he said. “The woman who stole my cousin’s heart.”
At that, I was thrown into my own reality, one where I was reminded of why I was here—to convince Mason, and everyone in attendance that Dean and I were in love.
My heart picked up speed, and I tipped my beer again. “Guilty as charged,” I said, taking a large gulp.
Mason let out a small laugh, but his focus was on the dance floor again, as though something out there amused him a little.
I followed his line of vision toward Dean, arms linked with a woman I guessed to be in her fifties. I knew she was likely a family member—probably an aunt.
Her hair was the same shade as Dean’s, they were both laughing, and they had the same smile.
How had I been so blind? How had I not pieced it together sooner?
And then, for the second time that night, my thoughts drifted to Dean’s parents. I found myself wondering whether the woman on the dance floor was from his mother’s side or his father’s. Growing up in foster care made things like that impossiblenotto pay attention to. The shared tilt of a head, a familiar curve of a smile—the invisible thread that wove people together. Family resemblance was something I noticed in everyone else—because I’d never had it myself.
That rare, quiet kind of belonging that came from seeing even the smallest piece of yourself reflected in someone else’s face.
“I have to say,” Mason’s voice broke through my thoughts, low and warm with amusement, “when I heard the rumors that Dean had fallen in love on his trip, I thought everyone was lying.”
“Why’s that?” I asked, clearing my throat, trying to steady the rush of emotion clawing its way up my chest.
Mason grinned, looking down for a second before meeting my gaze again. “Dean’s only introduced us to three women in his entire life,” he said. “And one of them was his date to prom.”
I blinked. “What?”
He laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yup. Thirty-three years, and that’s the list.”
Out on the dance floor, Dean was twirling a little girl with braces—a niece I presumed—and the two of them were laughing so hard they nearly tripped over each other’s feet. It was the kind of joy that didn’t ask for an audience, but found one anyway.
“I just didn’t think he had it in him,” Mason admitted, his grin softening. “He’s always so damn serious. Always working.”
I turned to look at him, then back to Dean, wondering if we were talking about the same man. The one who was going out of his way to make a little girl laugh until they both couldn’t breathe.
Mason followed my gaze, and something in his expression shifted—like maybe he’d seen the same thing I did. “Maybe things are changing,” he said finally, smiling wryly. “Guess that makes me the jaded cousin, huh?”
I let out a quiet laugh. “Should I keep that between us?”
He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Please do. If my aunts find out, I’ll have ten blind dates lined up before breakfast.”
I grinned, but before I could reply, his smile faltered. His gaze shifted past me—toward the far end of the deck. The easy charm faded from his face, replaced by something more thoughtful.
“Excuse me, Vivienne,” he said softly as he straightened. “There’s someone over there that I’ve been meaning to talk to.”
I followed his line of sight to find Blair sitting alone at one of the tables, a half-empty plate of food in front of her, boots kicked off and discarded beneath the chair. She rolled the same water bottle she’d been carrying around all night between her palms, as she stared out into the trees.
