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One of the cameramen smirks. “False, eh? That’s not what people say.”
“Even in the face of all these lies, Daniel is still trying to walk on with his head held high. He’s still trying to repair the relationship with his family thatyouhave all damaged.” She’s almost vibrating with anger. I try to move her again, but she yanks her hand out of my grip. “And if you have any idea what we did in our balcony seats tonight, you wouldn’t be questioning where his loyalties lie.”
Fuck. That isnotsomething I need hitting the internet.
Australian Business Mogul Has Raunchy Sexcapade during Opera Show.
“Ava,” I growl, grabbing her hand again. “That’s enough.”
I drag her through the crowd, shirtfronting the British man on my way through. He gives a satisfyingoofwhen my shoulder connects with his chest, bumping him out of my way. Yeah, it’s a caveman move but I need to get us both out of here, before my darling “fiancée” tells the world any more about our sex life. The tabloid mongrels follow us, shouting for more information, wolf-whistling Ava and asking if I’m good in bed.
Thankfully, our car is waiting right on the side of the road and I yank the door open before the driver has even made it out of his seat. Bundling Ava inside, I slam the door shut behind us, cutting the sound off with a harsh bang.
“You shouldn’t have taken their bait,” I say as the car pulls away from the curb. “It’s only feeding the beast.”
Ava leans back against the leather, her dark hair looking a little wild from the mad dash. Strands fall around her face in soft, springy curls. As if she wants to torture me, she reaches behind her head and pulls out a pin that sends the rest of her hair tumbling around her bare shoulders. The black silk and beading on her dress shimmers, enhancing her perfect shape and parting over one thigh, where the split reveals a shapely leg. I’m immediately reminded of how the fabric parted for my hands not too long ago.
“Why should they have the last say?” she asks indignantly.
“They print the words. Theyalwayshave the last say.” I narrow my gaze at her. “Especially when you allude to the fact that I used our private balcony for somethingotherthan watching the opera.”
“But it’s true, isn’t it?”
“Sometimes the truth is more dangerous than the lie.”
I’m starting to realise that. Because the lie here is that I feel nothing for Ava, that this is a means to an end. That she’s a glorious distraction from the shitstorm that is my life. But the truth of it—the truth of this passionate woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to wear it on her sleeve—is far more complicated.
And if there’s one thing I don’t want for my life, it’s more complications.
“But the lie is what put us in this position. One lie brings another, they breed like rabbits.” Her gaze drifts to the window, where lights flicker as we drive by. They play against her skin, mingling with the moonlight to make her look even more goddess-like and ethereal. “Isn’t the truth simpler?”
“Maybe for someone like you.”
She raises an eyebrow. “For someone like me?”
“Someone who doesn’t have to worry about being in the spotlight.”
“Ah,” she says with a bitter laugh. “A social peasant.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“But it’s what you meant. I’m beneath you in all this, someone you’ve dragged up from obscurity to plunge into your glittering world for the sake of selling the lie.”
“Is that what you really think, that you’rebeneathme?”
She snorts. “Let’s face it, Daniel, this dress cost more than my tertiary education and the last time I was in France, I lived on bread and black coffee because it was all I could afford. You may not think of me as being beneath you, but I am.”
“The only way you’d be beneath me is ifyou wanted me to fuck you in that position. That’s it.” I drag a hand over my face. How she could even believe the bullshit coming out of her mouth? “Otherwise, we walk on the same ground. I donotview you as less than me simply because you don’t come from money. That’s the kind of classist shit my father believed in.”
“HowwouldI know what you believe—it’s not like you tell me anything real. The second I ask questions you clam up harder than a toddler who doesn’t want to let go of his toy.” She shakes her head. “And I don’t care what you say, there isnoway you would have noticed me if we didn’t end up in that closet together. I wouldn’t have even registered on your radar.”
“No,” I admit. “You probably wouldn’t have.”
Hurt splashes across her face like red paint. But my answer isn’t what she thinks.
“The fact is, I haven’t looked atanywoman in more than a year. And that’s not by chance.” I watch curiosity flicker in her eyes, like embers warming in a fireplace. “After my dad left, my mother...”
I swallow, but it feels like I’ve got a peach pit lodged in my windpipe. There are so many things I’ve never told another person, so many things I’ve bottled up for years and years so that they ate at me from the inside, corroding who I am. What I want.
