Page 66 of Threaded Lies

“Chad.” I gulp over the surprise. Act normal. Act like you’re in love. “Um. Hi.”

“Hi.” He’s breathless but smiling.

In that brief look he gives me, I can see this all going up in flames. Our fake engagement. Him falling hard for me. My parents and the town disowning me.

Every dramatic thing you can imagine flashes through my head.

But I shove it away. I make like I never saw it and plaster a smile on my face to rival all smiles.

“Perfect,” my mom murmurs and claps her hands together as if that one single kiss just solved world peace.

“It is, isn’t it?” Chad says and nuzzles his nose against my cheek in what I hope is a move to perpetuate the lie.

I do my best to play into it, to place my hand on his forearm that’s wrapped around my waist and hold it lovingly.

You can do this.

You can pretend.

It’s just Chad. Just the nice guy you’ve known your whole life.

And I do perfectly fine, making small talk, laughing politely at his lame jokes and my mom’s pushy questions. All is fine with the fake it until you make it portion of the program, but nothing prepares me for the jolt I feel when I look over my mom’s shoulder and see Holden standing in the shadows.

He has his eyes locked on me above the rim of his drink—scotch whiskey, I’m assuming—before he downs it in one full-throated swallow. His eyes never waver from me.

That dull feeling I’ve had all evening? It’s suddenly charged. My skin prickles with anticipation for a later meeting with him that only exists in my mind.

But damn, a girl can hope.

He stays in the shadows for a short while. I find it hard to concentrate on the idle chitchat happening between my parents and Chad when all I want to do is look his way.

The conversation covers honeymoon options before veering to Porter, Rhett’s friend and owner of Greatland, one of our suppliers, and an onsite accident where a worker was hurt. It goes back to taste-testing our wedding menu and how my mom thinks we should see if a local winery can relabel some of their stock with a more appropriate name like Williams to celebrate our wedding and have served at our reception.

“Emmaline,” my father chastises. “That’s a tad over the top.”

“But this is Westmore’s most anticipated wedding in forever, honey. It’ll be talked about for years. What Rowan wore. How gorgeous the flowers were. Who the guests were. The food. The cake. The wine.” She clutches her hands to her chest. “Just everything. It has to be perfect.”

“And here I was under the impression it was our love that was supposed to take center stage,” I say sarcastically and rest my head gently on Chad’s shoulder. And in doing that, I catch a glimpse of Holden moving toward the side door on the patio into the banquet hall area.

“Of course it is. How could you think otherwise. Rowan, honey—”

“If you’ll excuse me, Caroline really is over there waving to me for help this time.” I look at Chad and then to my parents. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

I take off toward the banquet hall door without waiting for them to respond.

What are you doing, Rowan? Chasing after the man like a little lapdog come to heel?

But there is something so damn addicting about Holden Knight that the thought doesn’t even make me stutter a step.

After the past few weeks and how much he hurt me, shouldn’t that be a warning to me that I should back off some? Shouldn’t that be a lesson that I’m too close to a man who’s proven just how capable he is of breaking my heart?

I pull open the door to find a vacant hallway. Dishes clatter at the far end of it about a hundred feet down where clearly the staff are washing them.

My feet move toward the rectangle of light there. I jump when someone comes out of a door a bit down on my left. The gentleman coughs loudly and then startles when he sees me.

“Miss Rothschild.” The longtime employee of the club nods politely. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you, Jerry,” I say with a smile.