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“No, he’s not here. Why?”
“Because he was seen going to the building of Samantha Fraser. And I wanted to make sure he’s still behaving, since you two have been doing so well in the public eye,” he said, his voice even.
Her heart floated up her throat, then stopped beating for one second, and then drummed, much quicker than before. “When was he seen?”
“Today, around lunchtime. A broke paparazzo told me… I was able to buy pictures from him, so we’re good for now. I just wanted to make sure he’s, hmmm, behaving before this gets worse.”
Today.
The glass of wine she was holding slipped from her hands, crashing on the tile.
“Is everything okay?” Richard asked on the other end of the line.
“Yes, of course… I’m clumsy. Hmm, you’re sure he was seen in her building and not in a restaurant?”
“Yeah. The pap asked the doorman.”
She could feel blood draining from her, a cold sheen of apprehension coating her forehead. He’d lied to her. He fed her that bullshit haircut excuse, then went to some woman’s apartment. If they’d met at the lobby of a hotel or a restaurant, she would have been more lenient. But no—he’d gone to her apartment.
Sure, he told her about the property he wanted to buy from Samantha. But, why lie?
Why couldn’t he come clean to her?
Something didn’t sit right. Old memories from the moment she’d found her sister and Andrew in bed flashed in her mind. This wasn’t the same, right? There had to be a reason behind it. When they were together, when they made love, it felt so right.
Was he that good of an actor?
“Kira?” Richard asked, bringing her to reality.
“Yes. Sorry. As soon as he gets here, I’ll tell him to call you.”
“Great. It’s good to know at least one of you is responsible. Bye.”
She placed the phone on the counter, her fingertips trembling. She grabbed a piece of paper towel and kneeled on the floor. She picked the bigger chunks of broken glass first, putting them aside, then wiped the liquid that had spilled over the tiled floor.
Tears brimmed her vision, and soon, she had to stand up and run some cold water on her face. Why did the weird sensation in her throat—the mix of bile with a tightness she couldn’t quite explain—keep attacking her?
She could find all the excuses available to her, but that certainty deep in her gut that he’d lied to her wouldn’t go away—not until she talked to him.
She grabbed more paper towel, dabbed it in water from the sink, then turned off the tap and kneeled again. She wiped the tile again, then grabbed the used papers and the big chunks of glass and tossed them in the trash.
She was about to go to the pantry to take the broom when she heard footsteps coming her way. His footsteps. It was silly how she knew he was near without even a word.
Little shocks of dread charged her body from top to bottom. She smoothed her hand over her dress, the fancy one she’d picked for a date night with her husband. What a fool she had been…
“Kira?” he called, entering the kitchen.
“Hi,” she said, her throat parched. She tilted her head to look at him, to pay close attention to his hair. Sadness ballooned inside her, and she took a step back. It looked the same way it had earlier. He hadn’t gotten a cut. He lied to me. “No haircut?”
He touched his hair and shook his head. “No, turns out I misunderstood.”
“No, I was the one who misunderstood,” she said, her voice sharper than a shark’s tooth. She’d mistaken his desire for love, his lies for the truth. She’d given him a chance, opened her heart to him, and now, reality knocked her on her ass. “You were seen today entering Samantha’s building. When you told me you’d get a haircut.”
“I also told you I’d be working with her on buying a property.”
“Yes, and I also know you’re lying. I’m fully aware you can work with people without getting in their pants. But this time, in this case, I know you’re lying,” she said, then lifted her chin a notch, staring at him.
“I…” he started, then rubbed his temples and sighed into his hand. The silent guilt admission she didn’t expect, but still cut a hole in her heart. How the hell was she going to recover from this?
