Truth & Temptation

by Riley Edgewood

  Fuck.

  I tap my fingers against my coffee mug so hard it sloshes onto my desk. I wipe it up with my hand, too distracted to do much else.

  I don't want to run away. I don't want to push him away.

  These are the things that usually define who I am.

  I'm changing. And he's part of the reason why.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  VERA HELPS ME get ready for the wedding, and the more she grins the harder I frown.

  "You're allowed to be excited, you know." She tugs another strand of my hair around her curling iron.

  "How the hell am I supposed to be excited when I can barely breathe?" I press my hands into my stomach as the lid of the toilet, where I sit, digs into my tailbone. This is stupid. I never should've agreed to go. "His pretend ex-fiancée is going to be there. He told his family he's bringing me. His father. His grandfather." I wish I'd never texted him to ask if his family knew. I wish he'd told me how they reacted, so I had a better grip on what to expect, but he's too Alec to do that. Too polite. Too considerate of my feelings. Which pretty much tells me all I need to know about how his family took the news.

  Oh, God. I can't do this.

  "So what? It's not like they wouldn't know you were there when, you know, you show up with him." Vera doesn't get it.

  "So his family doesn't like me." Which, okay, might not be true—but I can't imagine they're thrilled, considering I'm the reason he broke off his perfect, business-favorable engagement. "I've never met the fiancée—ex-fiancée. Ex-pretend-fiancée. Whatever. I haven't met her—so it's been like she doesn't exist. But she does. And it's weird that I'm going. And to the rest of the world, I'm a fucking cliché. Like he dumped her for his secretary."

  "When have you ever cared what other people thought?"

  "His dad's the CEO of my company," I say, seething because I have to explain. "What he thinks of me matters."

  "Then don't go," Vera says, laying the curling iron down on the sink. "If it's such a huge mistake, back out."

  "Maybe I will." I stand, irritation wrapping around me tighter than the curls she's created in my hair. I start to stride out of the room—but I catch a glimpse of my reflection from the corner of my eye and…

  Wow.

  "Vera," I breathe. "What did you do to me?"

  Her reflection regards mine smugly. "Not much. Just played up on your features a bit."

  It's so much more than that.

  My eyes are huge, and my skin glows. My cheeks are softly rose-tinted and my lips are halfway parted, pretty and pink.

  "You're a fucking genius," I say.

  "Tell me something I don't know." She puts her hand on my shoulder, pushing me toward my seat on the toilet. "And imagine the final product when you're actually in the dress."

  I let her guide me, because now I'm imagining Alec's face when he sees me for the first time in a week, all done up. And when I have my dress on?

  How can I pass up the dress?

  I imagine how it'll feel to dance with him, to let him kiss the champagne toast from my mouth.

  He's worth this.

  How can I pass him up?

  Short answer: I can't.

  I don't want to.

  I won't.

  So I let Vera finish my hair and add one final coat of mascara. And then I put on the dress. It's long and burgundy and instead of clashing with my hair, it complements it. The material starts with a high neckline and drops all the way down to sweep the ground behind me. One long slit goes almost all the way up to the top of my thigh. There's beading along the shoulders and the back is open halfway down my spine, barely covering the sexy low-back bra I bought to go with it.

  "Whoa," Vera says when I step through my bedroom door into the living room.

  "Right?" I twirl. "I've literally never been this fancy. Ever."

  "I was going to beg you one last time to let me dust you with glitter." She holds up her bottle of it with a guilty expression. "But you don't need it. You're perfect."

  "Considering I practically went into debt for this dress… I hope I make an impact in it." I couldn't pass it up. The second I laid eyes on it, I knew. And it fit. And it was perfect.

  And it still is.

  With timing that is, of course, impeccable, there's a sharp knock at the door.

  "He's here," Vera hisses in a whisper.

  "No shit." Panic is a funny thing, squeezing my windpipe. "Where are you going?"

  She turns on her way to her bedroom. "This is your thing, your moment. I'll meet him again some other time."

  She gives me a thumbs-up like a fucking nerd and then tucks herself away in her room.

  I fill my lungs with so much air I can't believe they don't pop. Then I slowly let it all out.

  Then I open the door.

  Alec.

  He looks at me and his smile is a carnival ride, dropping my stomach with the force of suspended gravity. His eyes drop down and then rise against me, slowly, slowly reaching my face. "Damn, kitten."

  But while he's noticing me, I'm noticing him. And… "Damn, Alec."

  He cuts his tuxedo like it was invented solely to fit around him, all sharp and elegant.

  His hair's slicked away from his face, and his smile's blinding. "You are so fucking beautiful."

  "Do you want to come in?" I ask, flustered and gesturing to the rest of the apartment behind me. It's disconcerting to be this turned on while in formal wear, while standing in a shabby doorway. "For a drink?"

  He swallows, but I don't think it's because I've offered a beverage. "If I come in, we won't be making the wedding."

  "You mean," I say, a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth, "you'd have me waste this dress? Vera would be—"

  He grabs me and yanks me to him, crushing his mouth over the rest of my words. His hands curve around my back, his fingers trailing my exposed skin. I hold his shoulders, not sure if it's for my own balance or to keep him in place. His tongue is gentle at first, sweeping through my mouth, growing more demanding.

  He tastes like mint and whiskey.

  He smells like soap and leather.

  He feels like home. Like trust.

  I slide my hands up his neck to hold his face, my own lips more insistent than his.

  He cups my face, too, then gently breaks the kiss, which, however disappointing, is probably a good thing considering how fast I'm breathing.

  "I've missed this. I've missed you," he says. And with his next words, he takes my breath, tossing it away like it's nothing. "I'm addicted to you, Teagan. I crave you when I don't have you. I crave you now that I do. You're the sweetest drug I never knew I needed. I will never not need you."

  "Alec…" I stammer over his name.

  "You don't have to say anything," he says. "I wanted you to know—needed you to know. I'm yours. However you'll have me. I'm yours."

  "If I wouldn't ruin this dress, I'd be jumping you right now. You get that, right?"

  The grin that splits his face is dazzling. "If you wouldn't kill me for it, I'd be forcing the issue anyway."

  "I'd like to see you try." Words come easier now that we're back on familiar ground.

  He holds out his arm. "Shall we?"

  I take it. "Let's."

  At any other time walking down a concrete stairwell in muggy Virginia summer heat might feel ridiculous in formal wear, but…nothing about standing next to Alec looking the way he does is ridiculous.

  The only thing that's ridiculous about the situation is when we step into the parking lot and I discover a huge, long limo waiting for us. The limo's not the ridiculous part. My mother's voice in my head is. The one that tells me I've made it. The one that cackles at the way the sun shines like diamonds against the car's exterior. She's as smug as it is humid outside.

  I try to drown her when Alec hands me a tall flute of champagne inside the limo. He sips a glass of whiskey, watching me.

  With the second flute, I finally succeed. The coolness of the air conditioning settl
ing over my hot skin helps too.

  "How's your grandfather?"

  "Irritated," he says. "Irritating. On bedrest, but still well enough to destroy me at chess."

  "Comic books, chess… What's next? Model airplanes?" I tease, but my tone is weak. He's rich. He's smart. He's cutting a tuxedo like nobody's business.

  He's a fucking catch and a half.

  I wish he wasn't.

  "What's wrong?" Alec asks, concern dampening his features.

  "Nothing. This is perfect," I say, stronger this time, putting my empty glass down across from us and taking his face in my hands. "How could anything be wrong?"

  "I know you're lying," he says. "But you look like you're about to kiss me, so I'll let it pass. For now."

  If I were my mother, she'd kiss him fiercely, recklessly, really driving home the point of how much she wanted him.

  I kiss him sweetly, teasing him with my tongue and keeping my lips gentle over his. He's the one to pull me tighter against him, to press our mouths harder together. I let him.

  I revel in him.

  I'm going to spend the rest of the night doing the exact same thing.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  WE KISS AND kiss and kiss so long my mouth goes numb. And then we kiss some more.

  But my mother won't shut the fuck up, laughing in the back of my mind.

  I'm the one to break away because my brain's about to split in two. I'm going crazy.

  "I'm in therapy," I say, suddenly panicked. Because who doesn't love a good mood ruiner? "I have a shit-ton of issues. Like, I was practically in love with Cassidy's brother—who overdosed almost two years ago—and I never even told her."

  Comprehension filters through his gaze. "You're talking about Brad's son. That was an awful situation. I'm sorry for your loss."

  "Well…" I struggle to come up with something else to say. "Whatever. It was a long time ago. I don't know why I brought it up." Of course I do, though. To ruin the moment. It's my super special talent.

  Alec studies me, hawk-like in his expression. "It's good. That you're still in therapy, I mean."

  "So you agree I need therapy?" I ask, challenge rising in my tone, moisture rising in my eyes. I watch out the window across from where we sit, letting the blur of the landscape distract me until it defeats the sting of tears. Of course he thinks I need therapy. I'm nuts. I broke off from kissing him to talk about a dead boy I used to almost love.

  "I think most people would benefit from therapy," he says, calmly. "And maybe while you're there you can figure out how to stop trying so hard to push me away. I'm not going anywhere."

  "I doubt you've ever been to a shrink," I say, unable to stop myself. Literally. I try to bite back the words, the bitterness they're laced with, but they come tumbling out anyway.

  He drags a hand across his face, not meeting my eyes for a moment. But when he does, his expression is both full of steel—and, somehow, vulnerability. "You see these scars?"

  He raises his fist toward me and extends his fingers, slowly, the web of scars stretching across his knuckles, over his fingers, and down the back of his hand.

  "I'm surprised you've never asked about them," he says, his voice steady.

  I force my eyes to his. "I figured if they were something you wanted to talk about…you would."

  "Well," he says, a twisted, disarming smile across his lips, "here you go. This is what happens when you punch a mirror with a cabinet behind it. You don't just bust up your knuckles, but your entire hand. Bled enough to end up in the hospital. Three times."

  I grab his hand, which is starting to shake, and I pull it into my lap. I want to kiss my way along his scars, I want to take away this thing that still causes him so much pain.

  "You went three times?" I hate the thought that comes to me. "For that one mirror, or were there others?"

  He doesn't answer, but he looks away, and that tells me all I need to know.

  "Why?" I ask, hoping it's okay to ask.

  "I had a twin," he says, still not looking at me.

  "Your sister?" I remember the picture in his office, of the toddler.

  "She died in a car accident when we were seventeen. Sh-sh-she…" He clears his throat, tightening his fingers in my grip almost painfully. "She called me for a ride home, but I told her I was busy. Which I was. Trying to work my way into some girl's pants." He pauses, remembering, regret piercing his features. "So my sister got in a car with her drunk ex-boyfriend. And neither of them made it out."

  "I'm so sorry," I say, knowing the words will never be good enough, but needing him to hear them anyway. I've never understood more clearly than now why Alec doesn't use his looks and his money to bang a bunch of chicks. I have no doubt that night pushed him far, far away from that path—if he'd ever been on it to begin with. "That must've been horrible."

  "I imagine it wasn't pleasant," he says; for the first time his tone comes out with a bite to it.

  "I meant for you—"

  "I know what you mean." He shakes his head, breathing out with a shaky gust of air. "Sorry."

  I run my thumb over the back of his hand. "That's why you don't have mirrors…anywhere in your place."

  It's not a question but he answers me anyway. "For a long time, I couldn't stand the sight of my reflection. Not when she never got to see hers again. We weren't identical—but we were close enough. I couldn't see me without seeing her. I couldn't see me without looking at the person I let die."

  I understand him completely. Sometimes, from certain angles, Cassidy resembles her brother so strongly I can't look at her.

  "It's not your fault," I say, my heart slowly deflating between my ribs, struggling to beat, like it's having trouble breathing. "You know that, right?"

  "I do, because of therapy." Breath shudders through him. "My slightly bedraggled point is that I've been in therapy for the better part of a decade. Even my therapist sees a therapist—says it's good to cleanse the mind even if nothing's hurting it at the moment. That's why I still go."

  "I'm sorry," I say. "To bring this to surface on a night like this one."

  "Let's not apologize anymore tonight." He shrugs off my words, his eyes still far away. "It's a celebration for family. If she can't be here physically, she at least deserves a space in my mind."

  My mouth twists when I try to fight the sour thought that pushes through. I look away, but he sees it first.

  "Tell me," he asks. "Have I freaked you out?"

  "No!" I turn toward him so fast my neck cracks. I rub it, confessing what I wish I didn't have to. "I was thinking… You want your missing family in your mind. I can't keep my mother from ruining my thoughts."

  "I'm—" He starts to apologize, catches himself. "Parents have a way of haunting us whether they're here or not."

  "For the longest time I wished mine would be here to haunt me," I say, my words much more casual than their definitions to me. "Now I wish they'd stop altogether."

  "Your father too?"

  "Nah. Too hard to listen to a voice I've literally never heard." My breath shakes out of me. "God. Kiss me again or something. Let's get this limo back on the party trail, yeah?"

  So he does, and we do. And by the time we pull up to the wedding, I'm breathless with the way I need him.

  Even the scene unfolding outside the windows doesn't hold a candle to my awe with him.

  To call the house we're pulling up to a mansion would be to severely undersell it. It's three mansions stuffed into one and you can see it from about a million miles away, which is about how long the driveway is. It's a hotel of a house. In fact… "Is this a hotel?"

  He laughs. "This is my grandfather's estate."

  "Well holy shit." I throw a hand over my mouth. "I can't talk like that here, can I?"

  "Kitten," he says, grabbing my hand and lowering it. "You talk however the fuck you want. You don't need to change a thing about yourself for my family. Don't be nervous."

  I'm not so sure that's true; not with the way my s
tomach's down near my feet right now. Dread's a heavy bitch. I flash back to the way his grandfather told me to get out of his hospital room. The way his father's eyes slid over me like furniture.

  That was a family emergency, though. This is a celebration. Different atmosphere. Right?

  Ugh. Why do I doubt it so much?

  But…

  I have Alec.

  And he has me.

  And it's enough for that block of dread to crumble at the corners, my stomach righting itself. "I've never put much stock in people being better than me because they have money," I say. "I think I'm nervous because I…" I stutter, having to clear my throat. Why is this so hard for me? "Because of how much I care about you."

  "I know I'm nervous now because of what I feel for you."

  "Guess that makes us even then," I say.

  "Even?" He laughs, his eyes dancing as he pulls me from the limo. "Not a chance, kitten. You topple me."

  CHAPTER FORTY

  THERE'S NO WEDDING party, Alec tells me when I ask if he's supposed to be doing something for the groom right now. "They want to be alone up there. Didn't even do a rehearsal dinner, which really pissed off my grandfather, because it was the one event he could've participated in, if he'd hosted it at his house like he wanted."

  Right. Because he's on bedrest. Relief is a cool breeze against the smarmy heat in the air. His grandfather won't be at the wedding. One less person for me to worry about.

  "Tell me about your brother," I say.

  Alec laughs but there's not much humor in it. "Mark is three years older. A perfect fit for my family—which is to say he's a fucking snob—even if he went to medical school instead of following in our father's footsteps. It's literally the only way he's ever rebelled, and nobody made a big deal out of it because, you know, the prestige of having a fancy surgeon in the family has a nice feel to it."

  If I didn't know him better, I'd miss the bitter undertone beneath the dryness of his words. "It's kind of romantic," is all I say, though. "Just your brother and his bride in front of all their friends and family. Like they'll be in their own world."