Page 28 of Prince of Lies


Font Size:  

“Or?” I repeated with ill-concealed eagerness.

“This morning, I called and booked you a suite at your usual hotel, as well as a private dinner. If you’re tired, we could head there. I wasn’t sure if you’d be eager for more polo after…” He lowered his voice. “Sally Struthers.”

“Ah. That.” My cheeks warmed. “You know, I… may have been a bit hasty.”

Bash nodded. “Caught up in things again?”

He was talking to his boss. To Sterling Chase. And I knew that. But when he gave me that knowing, half-amused grin, it felt as if he sawme. As if he knew the real Rowe Prince. Andlikedhim.

God, I wanted that to be true.

“Definitely caught up,” I murmured.

Bash nodded again and watched me expectantly, waiting for me to make a decision. Would we stay and mingle or leave? Take a chance at finding Justin or make our escape? Did I want the business deal or the fairy tale? This could be my last chance at either.

I took a deep breath… and Bash lifted his hand to gently touch my hair. My breath hitched, and my whole body leaned toward him, like Bash was an archer and I was a bow.

“Sorry. You had a little piece of…” He flicked a bit of straw off his fingers and let it drift toward the ground, but his eyes locked on mine. “Rowe,” he began breathlessly.

“The hotel,” I croaked. “We should go to the hotel.”

Maybe it was reckless and shortsighted, but I chose the fairy tale.

* * *

Bash and I spent the short ride to the hotel talking about light topics that did little to diffuse the tension in the air between us. The best polo matches he’d seen. The weather forecast. The hit single from Zee Barlo on the radio, which I knew all the words to and Bash claimed was “not as good as his early stuff.” I would have maybe argued with him about that, but by then, we were pulling up to a large inn that looked light-years out of my price range.

My stomach clenched. Of course a place likethiswould be Sterling Chase’s usual hotel. I really hoped someone else was paying for it because I didn’t even have a credit card to pretend to pay with. And I was going to have to save up for eternity to pay them back.

The realization was a reality check. Like Joey had said, I was Cinderella, and midnight was fast approaching. I couldn’t afford—literally—to keep this charade up much longer.

“Welcome to the Malachite. May I take your luggage?” a uniformed porter inquired politely about items we didn’t have.

“Yes, please,” Bash said, gesturing to the driver. “Morris has them in the trunk. Thank you.”

He did? Bash had somehow acquired Sterling’s clothing? Was there any use in hoping the real Sterling was thin and vertically challenged?

“Certainly, Mr. Dayne,” the porter said, ushering us into the lobby. “Enjoy your stay, sir.”

The porter’s brief exchange with Bash faded to background noise as I stepped into the lobby’s sitting area. Whoever had designed this place was a master of their craft. They’d married a plush Victorian velvet settee with a rolled-arm Chesterfield and a marble-topped coffee table with inlaid mahogany end tables. On the walls, sturdy gilt-framed English landscapes were interspersed with black-and-white photos of the hotel’s famous guests, and dozens of informal tussie-mussie floral bouquets adorned every flat surface.

The style was perfect for the space—refined without being stuffy, exactly the look I tried to achieve in my own space back home on a much,muchslimmer budget.

“Oh my god,” I whispered, moving toward the reception desk before I’d made a conscious decision to go there. I ran my hand over the sleek surface. “Is this rosewood?”

If the woman at the desk was surprised by my enthusiasm, she didn’t show it. “Yes, sir. I believe so.”

“My favorite,” I said reverently. “Did you know that rosewood actually has nothing to do with roses? It got its name because the wood smells so sweet. It’s actually my favorite kind of wood to refinish because it—”

Bash strolled up behind me. “Is everything alright?”

I straightened and tried to feign boredom. “What? Oh. Yes. Just… admiring the beautiful table. I might, uh, acquire one like it.” I sniffed. “Maybe more than one.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Really? Where would you put them?”

Shit. How was I supposed to know where Sterling would put giant tables when I’d never been to his home?

HadBashbeen there? Would he know I was lying? This whole secret-identity thing was becoming annoying on a whole other level.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
Articles you may like