Page 65 of Love and Lies

“Oh, believe me, he had no problem with it.” I gave her a cheerful smile.

Too far.

“Very interesting.” My mother went to the phone and dialed one for reception. Oh, God. She was actually going to check up on my story. “This is Blake Weston.” I held my breath, desperately hoping the concierge wouldn’t give the game away. “I have a small problem; perhaps you can help. Yes, that’s right. I was just trying to reach Mr. Woodraw in room 612, but the line is making strange noises. Could you look into it?”

Oh, fuck. She really is cunning.

I could see on my mother’s face the exact moment my lie collapsed. And when she spoke next, I was certain.

“Ah, Mr. Woodraw isn’t staying in room 612? Who is then, please?”

Please tell her you’re not allowed to give out that information. Please.

“You’re not allowed to give out that information?” my mother said. Sweet relief. The concierge was going to get a hefty tip from me tomorrow—that was for sure. “Of course, I understand. On the other hand, I’m sure you can understand that, as a law-abiding citizen, it’s my duty to report any violation of laws for the protection of minors. I just paid a quick visit to the bar, you see, where I happened to see the bartender happily serving bourbon to a seventeen-year-old. It’d be such a shame if your liquor license was revoked so close to your opening.”

I’d stopped breathing a while back, as I stood stock-still, waiting for what would happen next.

My mother listened for a moment longer, then she hung up and turned to me. It felt like it was all happening in slow motion. Then she opened her mouth, and I knew it was over.

“Jessiah Coldwell?” she asked, aghast, before she took in my outfit again and seemed to put two and two together. “Please say it’s not true. Please tell me you weren’t in his room. Of all people!” Her voice was hysterical. My chances of getting out of this unscathed had fallen to exactly zero.

Still, I gave it a shot.

“It’s not what you think.” The corniest line of all time. “I was there to end things. Lincoln told me—”

“Your brother knew about this?” she interrupted, without really expecting an answer. Instead, she gestured around my hotel room, which was chaos. “Pack what you need for tonight. You’re spending the night in our suite.”

“Mom—”

“I don’t want to hear another word. We’ll talk about it upstairs with your father. But I hope Cambridge hasn’t taken you off their enrollment list, because you’re going back as soon as possible.”

I wanted to argue, plead my case, even beg her to reconsider, but I knew that right now, it was pointless. So I did as she’d asked, packed a few things together, and followed her wordlessly out of my room and up the two floors to their suite.

As soon as I went in, I knew I’d been right about my theory: this room was bigger, with a separate living area, but it was a standard hotel suite, not one of the luxury ones on the top floor. Clearly my family’s reputation in New York society had indeed suffered.

Not that that was my biggest problem right now.

“What’s going on here?” My father came out of the bathroom, still in his shirt and suit pants, having removed only his jacket. “Helena, sweetheart, are you okay?”

“She’s doing great,” huffed my mother. “She’s just had sex with a Coldwell, after all. Which seems to be something of a high point for our daughters.” She took out her cell phone and selected a number. “Come up to our suite right away,” she said simply and hung up again.

My father leveled me with a deadly serious look. “You did what?”

“I didn’t sleep with him.” Which was the truth for once—although I would have, if we hadn’t been interrupted. Jesus, and then some. I only hoped it wasn’t obvious. “There’s been nothing at all between us this whole time.”

“Until today, clearly.” Mom stared at me. “The fact that you’re hooking up with the son of the woman who defamed your sister for months leaves me speechless, Helena. I expected more from you.”

“Mom, Jessiah isn’t like Trish, okay? He didn’t grow up with her; the two of them don’t really have a thing in common. Jess is—” I broke off. Telling them what I thought of him wasn’t going to help my situation. The opposite, in fact.

My parents exchanged a look. “What is he?” Dad regarded me sternly.

“He’s honest, helpful, kind… he’s a good person.”

I didn’t know what was so fatal about those harmless words, but my mother suddenly turned pale, and my father sank onto the bed as though he’d just been given some terrible news.

“What is it?” I asked.

“That’s exactly what she said, back then,” my mother whispered. “Valerie said the exact same thing about Adam Coldwell when we begged her not to get into a relationship with him.”