Twisted Truths: The Regretful Lies Duet Book 2

by Azzi, Gina

“See you,” he agrees, not bothering to glance in my direction.

  My heart sinks to my toes and I fist the hem of my shirt. The indifference in his tone skates over my skin in flurries, not cold enough to sting but present enough to warn of impending winter.

  “Hey.” His face brightens, his eyes losing that faraway distance he holds onto when speaking to me.

  My spine snaps ramrod straight and my shoulders tighten.

  She’s here. Again.

  Natalie Beck.

  How can Eli forgive her for not telling him she was aborting his child but he can’t forgive me for not wanting to be his girlfriend?

  Liar. Of all the lies I fed Eli, that one was the worst. And the most untrue.

  More than anything, I want him to look at me with warmth in his gaze and a smirk on his lips. I want him to see me again.

  I turn in time to see the deep blue dress that hugs Natalie’s curves. I watch as Eli wraps his arm around her lower back, loosely so he doesn’t ruin her dress with his sticky sweat. She grins up at him as if he hung the freaking moon, and together they meander toward the sunset, lost in each other’s eyes.

  Jesus.

  Gathering the workout equipment, I mentally block Eli from my mind. I need to change quickly and head into town for my screenings and tests. They will provide a baseline for Dr. Salinas to compare future test results against.

  Steeling my shoulders, I glance out to the sea. The waves lap against the shoreline, calm and tranquil. I inhale deeply, then hold the breath in my chest.

  You can do this. You’re a warrior.

  You’re not going to die.

  * * *

  “I just finished the exam,” I explain to Charlie as I pull my cross-body purse over my head and settle it against my chest. “Dr. Salinas should call with the results tomorrow or the next day, so I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Good. I’m glad you’re making a plan. Any thoughts on the surgery?” she tries to keep her voice light but I hear the nerves underlining her words, even over the phone.

  “I printed out all the material. I’ll start going through it this week. How’s Dad?” I wave to the receptionist and slip from the office, out into the blinding sunshine.

  “He’s okay,” Charlie sighs. “Worried about you.”

  “And his eyes?”

  “Same. He has—”

  “Zoe?”

  My steps falter as I peer over my shoulder.

  “Laurence?” I ask, my mouth dropping open as he stands before me. “Charlie, I gotta go.” I end the call, clenching my phone in my hand.

  Laurence’s eyes narrow in on the office sign marked “Radiology” and return to me, concerned and wary.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, an edge to my tone that he doesn’t miss.

  “Had to drop off a paper for my uncle,” he explains. Peering at me closely, he dips his head toward the street. “Want to grab a drink?”

  “It seems like you only drink the strongest rum.” I quirk an eyebrow, knowing his tolerance for alcohol is much higher than mine.

  His mouth curves into a smile. “I feel like everyone leaving this office could use a strong rum.”

  “Fair point. Are you working today?”

  “Later tonight. So that means, we have a few hours to drink for free.”

  I laugh, nodding in agreement. Gripping my phone tightly, I mentally run through a million scenarios to explain why I’m at the medical imaging unit.

  I could say it’s for Dad. To pick up imaging results. I could say it’s just part of an annual physical.

  I could—

  “My uncle had testicular cancer.” Laurence fills in the silence and my breath stutters in my chest.

  I keep my eyes forward, not daring to look at him as he gives me the opening to start talking.

  “It was years ago, but he still has an annual test to make sure he’s in the clear. I was just dropping off his referral to schedule an appointment.”

  I nod, my tongue darting out to wet my lips, which suddenly feel like cracking. “I’m sorry he had to go through that.”

  “Thank you.”

  We cross the street, and Laurence leads me toward the colorful restaurant which looks less bright in the daytime hours without the Christmas lights flickering along its edges. He holds the door open for me, and we slip inside.

  “Rum?” he asks, his tone neutral.

  “I’ll take a hurricane,” I agree, sliding onto a barstool.

  Laurence pops behind the bar, chatting easily with his cousins as he whips up two cocktails. He sticks an umbrella and a straw in mine, then places it in front of me before rounding the bar and sitting on the barstool next to mine.

  I take a long pull of the drink, letting the sugary sweetness coat the inside of my mouth.

  Tell him.

  Don’t tell him anything.

  He confided in you.

  What is this, a sleepover?

  It would be good to have a support system.

  It would also be good to not be sick in the first place.

  My mind whirls and my throat tightens as the words I know I should say stack on top of each other like a thirty-car pileup on The Kennedy.

  “Drink, mon amie.” Laurence nudges my glass closer to me.

  My chest squeezes painfully and my mouth falls open. Before I can say anything he smiles, his eyes warm. “Take a long drink,” he says again. “Followed by a deep breath.”

  I wrap my lips around the straw and suck in a long gulp. I don’t even taste the alcohol as it slides down my throat.

  “You won’t tell anyone you saw me there?” I finally ask.

  “I won’t tell anyone anything. But if you want to tell me something, I’ll listen.” His eyes are serious though his tone is casual, like he’s asking me about my weekend plans.

  I exhale, my grip on the glass tightening. “I recently learned that I have lobular carcinoma in situ.” I glance up to gauge his reaction.

  Laurence’s eyes darken, concerned and intense. “And that is?”

  Sighing, I explain my diagnosis. “But it’s more concerning because I also tested positive for BRCA 1 and 2. I learned my test results right before coming here. And…”

  “You’re scared?”

  “Terrified.”

  Laurence’s hand reaches out and covers mine. His skin is warm, his fingers long and slim, his touch powerful. “I understand.”

  Looking at him, I see in his expression—compassion, understanding, concern—that he truly does understand. Relieved by the absence of pity, I dip my head closer and continue. “I broke up with Eli.”

  “Ah, mon amie, I’m sorry. I could tell by the way you looked at each other that you really cared for one another.”

  “How?” I ask, my eyebrows scrunching together.

  “That night you were here. What game were you playing? Two lies and a truth?”

  “Two truths and a lie. Oh man. I’m sorry about that. God.” I pull my hand out from under his and scrub it over my face. “I’m so embarrassed. I—”

  “Was having fun with a man you were falling for,” Laurence says gently.

  I look at him and nod. “I don’t want him to know.”

  “How is he?”

  “He’s making the movie of his career. I can’t, I won’t—”

  “You’re not helping him by keeping this a secret.”

  “But I am,” I bite my bottom lip, and Laurence’s expression softens.

  “Ah, mon amie, if only you could see what I see.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How strong and resilient a woman you are. And the way Eli cares about you,” he shakes his head. “He really cares.”

  “And you got all that after one interaction at your bar?”

  “I got all of that in the first five minutes of seeing you together.”

  “It’s not like that anymore. His ex-girlfriend is back. She showed up with some surprising news and ever since, Eli’s been all over her.”

&nbs
p; “Do you think it’s sincere? The way he is with her?”

  I shrug, taking another gulp of my drink. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

  “Yes, you do. Give yourself more credit than that. In the meantime, I’m here for you, Zoe. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

  8

  Eli

  Why the hell is he here?

  She shouldn’t even be here, never mind with him.

  And yet, for the past week, Zoe and Laurence have stopped by the set nearly every day to bring Harlow a coffee or a smoothie or lunch from the restaurant.

  I hate the way he touches the small of her back. I hate how comfortable she is around him, the way she arches into his touch, how she giggles when he whispers in her ear.

  Watching Laurence move in on Zoe is torture. Seeing how easily she responds to the lines he drops is like having bamboo sticks shoved underneath my fingernails.

  My jaw ticks as my eyes scan her body. Her long hair flipped in front of her shoulders, the ends brushing against her nipples. Her shirt is tight, sculpting to her breasts. A sliver of smooth, tanned skin winks at me before the ruby material of her skirt comes into view.

  Jesus Christ, Violet, why are you doing this to me?

  Is Laurence the man keeping you up at night? Is he the reason fatigue rings your irises and purple shadows mar the skin beneath your eyes?

  Is he the man you’re busy exploring “other pursuits” with?

  “Hey,” Brooke clasps my shoulder, giving it a little shake.

  Before I can turn back to her and prepare for the next scene we’re shooting, Zoe’s eyes slam into mine.

  The flash of pain in her whiskey eyes quickly morphs into irritation as she sizes up Brooke behind me. She knows we’re gearing up to shoot an intense sex scene. I fight the urge to roll my eyes as I bite back my chuckle.

  It’s fair play, baby.

  Until Laurence’s hand appears on Violet’s hip, and then all the laughter dies in my throat. Why the fuck is he touching her like that? Why is she letting him?

  “You ready for this next scene?” Brooke’s voice sounds again in my ear.

  My promises to Harlow—the ones where I act professional, keep my shit together, and don’t do anything stupid—can jump off a cliff. Turning into Brooke’s touch, I keep the corner of my eye trained on Zoe.

  “Yeah. All set, you?” I ask, relieved at Brooke’s nod when Zoe’s face flushes with embarrassment.

  Two can play at this game, Violet.

  Turning away from the woman invading my dreams and wreaking havoc on my reality, I slip my arm around Brooke’s waist and guide her back to set.

  Our next scene is the most passionate sex scene in Dangerous Devils. It requires my character to practically devour Brooke’s. And yes, we’re acting, and the relationship between Brooke and me is completely professional.

  But Zoe knows we share a history. If I were to draw upon that knowledge, her jealousy, in this moment to produce a kick-ass scene, well, that’s all part of my job, isn’t it?

  Right now, with Zoe’s gaze burrowing in between my shoulder blades, Brooke’s dark hair splayed out in the sand and anger pumping through my veins, ringing in my ears, it’s easy to slip into my role.

  “Action!”

  Brooke’s hand reaches for me, cupping my cheek as I gaze longingly into her eyes. Her lips part, the smallest breath escaping as her eyes cloud with a lust so deep, it’s almost believable.

  I lose myself in the moment.

  Seeing amber irises instead of midnight, violet streaks instead of black, my mouth arcs over hers, her lips soft and warm. Her hands trail down the sides of my body until her nails pierce my ribs, and she arches into me. I slant my mouth, taking from her greedily, hungrily. My hands, shadowing her hips moments ago, now grip her tightly, erasing the space between us until air ceases to exist.

  Her breasts press into my chest as a sweet moan drops from her lips. She’s nearly breathless, and I’m losing my limp grasp on reality. Brooke disappears, the periphery of her frame blurring, as my Violet blossoms in front of me.

  I inhale her coconut scent. My fingers weave through her hair and anchor her head so I can deepen our kiss. The sounds she makes when I’m working her over ring in my mind like a symphony.

  My skin burns under her touch. My mouth clashes with hers, taking, taking, taking. My heart gallops in my chest as I move over her, our bodies acting out the natural rhythm that’s prevailed for centuries.

  The breeze rustles over my back, the sea whispers around us. The entire set falls away. Everything stops except for this moment.

  Violet. My Violet.

  “Cut!”

  Brooke pulls back, her eyes flashing up to mine. Inky black swirling with confusion and wariness.

  Fuck.

  Claps and cheers ring out behind me.

  “That was brilliant!” Someone clasps my shoulder as I stagger off Brooke. She averts her gaze, fixing the pasty I nearly ripped off her nipple.

  I force a chuckle, nod at whatever is being said around me, clenching my hands into fists so no one notices how my fingers tremble.

  Moments ago, I was locked in a sweet embrace and felt sheltered from the world. Now, I feel so goddamn exposed, like all my thoughts are on display for everyone to read.

  I frantically glance around, grateful when Harlow appears with a robe. I don’t meet her eyes, too ashamed of my actions, and knowing that Harlow saw through my “acting.” She knows my performance with Brooke was fueled by something greater than becoming Dr. Henry Shorn.

  More than just the role. Bigger than just the job.

  Jesus.

  “Coffee?” Harlow’s voice is soft, sympathetic.

  I nod once and reach down an arm for Brooke but she shakes off my touch, her gaze disconcerted. She turns away, rolls her shoulders back and slips into a robe, avoiding me. Guilt settles in the pit of my stomach. She knows that scene was more than just acting too. She felt it in the desperation of my kiss. I’m not sure if Brooke’s pissed that I used her to make a point to Zoe or that I used the moment to lose myself in something other than the role, but I know I owe her an explanation.

  But not now. I’m too hopped up on adrenaline right now. That natural ease, that overwhelming ability to lose oneself completely, block out surroundings, forget that the world even spins, never existed between me and anyone. Anyone except Zoe.

  No, I’ve only felt that desperate need to take more and give everything with Violet. Only now, everyone knows it.

  “Well done, Holt.” Preston claps, shaking his head. “That was…well, it was something else. I know you were hesitant to work with an old flame, but the passion between you and Brooke was well worth the sacrifice to create a scene like that.”

  I nod, scraping my hand against my jaw to cover how shaken I am.

  Shit. I just created the most passionate and sensual sex scene of Dangerous Devils thinking it was Zoe in my arms.

  I should be proud that Preston is pleased with my performance. I should be relieved that the crew is applauding. I should be excited that the scene exceeded everyone’s expectations.

  My chest caves in on itself. My eyes snap up and scan the area.

  I’m not sure if I’m relieved or bothered that Zoe is gone.

  * * *

  “I fucked up.”

  “What happened, man?” Evan loosens his tie on my phone’s screen. Leaning back in his desk chair, I hear his shoes hit the desktop as he stacks his feet.

  “I don’t know,” I admit, swiping a sparkling water from the refrigerator and unscrewing the cap. “Something flipped. Something happened. And Zoe…God, she pushes my buttons, challenges me at every freaking turn.”

  “Eli?” Evan leans forward in his chair now, his eyes worried.

  “She pushed back. Told me she doesn’t want to do this anymore. She just wants to keep shit ‘professional,’” I say, using air quotes.

  “Okay.”

  “It’s not what you’re thinking.” />
  “What am I thinking?”

  “That I’m taking the rejection hard because of Natalie showing up and—”

  “Natalie’s there too?” Surprise colors Evan’s face.

  “She showed up last week. Anyway, that’s not what you think either.”

  Evan cocks his head, raises his eyebrow. “Eli, you have no idea what I’m thinking. But, continue.”

  “The night before Natalie showed up—she’s here for Gray, really—Zoe and I got into a fight. I walked out on our workout after she spewed a bunch of stupid bullshit.”

  “Jesus, man.”

  “I know. Anyway, Harlow appeared—”

  “You need to give that girl a raise.”

  I shoot him a scowl, then continue. “She got me back to my room, telling me not to do anything stupid.”

  “Good.”

  “And then Natalie messages me that she just landed in the Seychelles.”

  He rubs his eyelids. “Fuck, bro.”

  “She calls when she gets to the hotel and comes up to my room. Moments later, Zoe appears, dripping wet from the ocean, wearing a robe from the pool…” I trail off, pinching the bridge of my nose. “And Natalie announces she’s pregnant.”

  Evan’s eyes go so wide they practically fill the entire screen. “What the fuck?”

  “I know.”

  “Is it, who’s the—”

  “Gray. The baby is Gray’s.”

  My brother breathes out a sigh of relief, his chair creaking as he rocks back and forth, lost in thought. “Eli, what the hell?” he bites out, sterner than I’ve heard him in a long time. At least, with me. With his clients, he’s on a whole different level. “Zoe’s different, man. You can’t use the stupid bullshit head games that you played with Nat on her.”

  “I know. It wasn’t like that. I don’t know why she pulled away. Things were so good, too good that—”

  “That’s your first clue.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing is ever too good, man. If it seems that way, you’re just ignoring the cracks.”

  “That’s cynical.”

  “I prefer realistic.” Evan shakes his head. “Relationships are amazing. Finding that one person you connect with on a whole new level, who challenges you and accepts you and really loves you, it’s the most important thing you’ll ever have. But that type of real doesn’t just fall into your lap. You’ve got to work at it. Even people who have the types of relationships or marriages everyone envies, those people have cracks. They just work to fill them instead of letting them grow bigger.”