Page 4 of The Lies Between Lovers

“You don’t want to forget this—you wanted it a bit smaller, right?” she asked him, the pocket square in her hand already perfectly folded and ready for its home.

In his breast pocket.

The diagonally striped maroon and black silk matched the vest and tie he’d put on for the day to go with an appropriate suit. A custom set, from the tailored slacks to the black silk dress shirt he’d taken entirely too long to button earlier when his hands kept shaking.

He blamed that on the bottle of gin he downed the night before. That, and the Vicodin he’d been swallowing on and off for the day. He really needed to stop mixing the two.

“Here,” Mira said reaching for him once she was close enough to place the pocket square in its rightful spot. Her hand didn’t linger on his suit jacket any longer than was necessary, and she was careful not to meet his gaze once she was done and had stepped higher on the stairs again to put space between them. “I hope it’s better for you like this, yes?”

“Of course,” he replied.

The problem, though?

Vas couldn’t remember asking Mira to do anything about the pocket square. He had thought it was better halved than the size his tailor sent over, but had he verbalized that?

The liquor and pills are fucking with you, he thought.

Or was it something else?

Could he just not remember?

How would Mira know otherwise?

“Is something wrong?” she asked him.

Maybe because he lingered there on his steps, his gaze distant on the front doors over her shoulder, lost in his failing memory. She wouldn’t usually question him like that, but he was grateful for her quiet voice all the same.

It dragged him back to reality.

The present.

The only place he needed to be. At least here, he was still alive.

“No,” Vaslav eventually said. “It’s just another day.”

The lie was easy to say.

It was everything else that was hard.

“We’re running late, Vas,” came the call from the driveway.

Igor waited next to the rear passenger door of the SUV limo; their driver for the day likely wouldn’t move his ass from the front seat, unless told to do so.

“One more thing,” Mira said as Vaslav headed for the idling vehicle. “I forgot to mention it since you arrived back ... things were busy.”

To say the least.

In fact, she was being kind.

Vaslav’s mood had been borderline psychotic since Paris, and it hadn’t particularly gotten better. His den almost didn’t make it through the spell he threw when he woke up confused and still hung over. He didn’t blame the woman for keeping a distance and only getting close to his personal spaces when it was demanded.

A smart choice, really.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Your mother was by. When you were gone, I mean.”

Vaslav blinked when he pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to flex his mind around why that news would be important to him. Especially so much so, that Mira felt the need to fill him in on the details now when he was already supposed to be on the road. Although, could he really be late for a funeral that wasn’t his?