Love & Lies

by Julie Johnson

  Seeing her like that — diminished by this parade of assholes who’d never be good enough for her — pissed me off beyond measure. I didn’t fully understand why, but seeing this beautiful girl begin to question her own worth because of a few idiots had me ready to throttle each and every one of them, until they were bleeding and begging to apologize for their own ignorance.

  I didn’t recognize these unfamiliar emotions raging inside me — I had no name for them, no experience to compare them with. All I knew was that I was so mad, I couldn’t think straight. So angry, I was out of my fucking mind. The tightly-reined control that I’d counted on for as long as I could remember suddenly fled and, for a moment, I lost myself.

  That was the only possible explanation for what I did next.

  Because when Linda, the obnoxiously enthusiastic brunette in charge, rang her bell to signal the end of round six, I didn’t slip out of sight and leave the girl behind, as I’d planned to. I didn’t walk away. Instead, I found myself emerging from the shadows, heading determinedly for the cocktail table I’d been watching for the past thirty minutes.

  Asshole number seven was reaching for the stool, but I cut in front of him and quickly slid onto the seat. I set my easel case on the ground, propped my forearms on the table, and turned to face the shocked girl seated across from me.

  Her eyes were wide with disbelief. Her lips were twitching as though torn between two expressions — unsure whether to stretch in a smile or part in shock. I grinned wolfishly at her and was pleased when, after a few seconds, her lips curved up in response.

  “Hey, Red,” I said casually.

  “Hi,” she breathed, her eyes scanning my face. “You’re here.”

  My grin went crooked.

  “Um, hello? Excuse me?” The insistent male voice was an unwelcome intrusion on our moment. I glanced dismissively at the short-statured man who should’ve been Faith’s partner during this round, before turning my eyes back to her.

  “So, where were we?” I asked her. Before she could speak, I launched in. “Ah, yes. Speed-dating. Well, I’m Wesley Adams — though, only my mother is allowed to call me Wesley. To everyone else, it’s Wes. Twenty-five years young. Capricorn. And yes, before you ask, I do in fact like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain.”

  Her mouth dropped open and her whisper was full of breathy outrage. “You broke the first rule of stranger club!”

  “This is not an official stranger club meeting — this is speed-dating.” I managed to laugh, but inside I was kicking myself. I couldn’t believe, of all the names in the world, I’d given her that one. My entire cover story had been there, poised on my lips. I’d had it prepared for weeks.

  I was Joshua “Josh” Collins — stationed here on business for the next year. A pharmaceutical researcher studying the healing properties of Hungary’s famous thermal springs, as well as their applications for modern medicine. Unmarried. Originally from a small, oceanfront community in Cape Cod, Massachusetts. A stand-up sort of man, with a safe set of interests — golf, sailing, skiing. I was the stereotypical New England WASP, who’d gone to a good, solid college and was looking for a good, solid woman.

  Except, when I’d opened my mouth to reveal my name, the cover I’d carefully rehearsed hadn’t come out. Because I didn’t want to be Josh Collins when she looked at me. I wanted to be myself — or, at the very least, some close derivative of myself. So, I said Wesley Adams.

  Wesley. Fucking. Adams.

  Might as well have blown the whole fucking mission wide open and told her my real name.

  Hi, I’m Weston Abbott, the CIA operative attempting to infiltrate your life. Wanna grab a coffee?

  I was such a fucking idiot.

  I could’ve tried to justify it — could’ve told myself I’d only chosen a name similar to my own because it would be easier to remember, that lies were always more convincing when they held a grain of truth. But that was all bullshit. I’d changed my cover at the last second for one reason only: because when I finally heard Faith Morrissey say my name, I didn’t want it to be fake. I didn’t want it to be a lie.

  And that was the most dangerous, reckless thing I’d ever done in all my years dodging bullets and running for my life on this job.

  “Excuse me!” Match number seven was really getting flustered now. “You’re in my seat! I’m supposed to be with her this round.”

  I looked up at him once more. “Are you sure? I think you should go check with the brunette with the bullhorn. She looks like she’s a good mediator.”

  “But, I—”

  “Dude. You’re hovering.”

  “But—”

  I turned back to Faith, who was barely managing to contain her laughter as the man stormed off to find matchmaker Linda. “Anyway, where was I?”

  “Breaking all my rules,” she muttered darkly, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms over her torso.

  “And my own,” I added under my breath.

  “What?” Her brows lifted in question.

  “I did warn you that I had no intention of following your rules the last time we spoke,” I pointed out.

  She huffed. “I don’t like you.”

  I shrugged and grinned. “I don’t know why you’re so upset. You were right.”

  “I usually am,” she said humbly, her smile reappearing. “But, pray tell, what about this time?”

  “Fate,” I said quietly.

  Her eyes went liquid with warmth. “So you believe in it, now?”

  “No,” I said carefully, gaze still on hers. “But you do.”

  The skin around her eyes crinkled when she grinned. “I told you — you just had to have a little faith.”

  I caught her play on words, but didn’t let on that I understood. “So, we have approximately two and a half minutes left. Let’s get cracking. I want to know your deepest secrets, fears, and dreams.”

  “In that order?” she asked, laughing.

  “Of course. That’s what speed-dating is all about, right? Really getting to know someone? Every detailed facet of their personality, each nuance that makes them special, what really makes them tick…”

  “Oh, of course.” She snorted, her voice heavily laced with sarcasm. “All of the men I met tonight now know everything there is to know about me. Five minutes is really all it takes.”

  “I figured as much. Plus, they seemed like total gentlemen.”

  “Six Prince Freaking Charmings in a row, let me tell you.”

  “Why are you here?” I was truly curious. “This doesn’t seem like your scene.”

  Her eyes darted left, three tables down the row to where her roommate was sitting. “My friend Margot kind of tricked me into it. Personally, I would’ve preferred an evening of medieval torture.”

  “Hmm, what’s your pleasure? The Iron Maiden? Heretics Fork? Judas Cradle?”

  She winced. “None of the above. Just guillotine me and get it over with.”

  I laughed — a real, genuine chuckle that ricocheted inside my chest like a ping-pong ball. The sensation was totally foreign to me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed without pretense; not because I was obligated to, not because it was something the man I was pretending to be might’ve found amusing, but because I actually wanted to express enjoyment at the words and wit of another human being.

  “So…” She trailed off for a moment, a contemplative look in her eyes. “Wes.”

  She said it slowly, as though she was testing out the feeling of the name as it rolled off her tongue. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself in check when she stared at me with those molten gold eyes and said it again. “Wes Adams.”

  “That’s my name.” I swallowed roughly, my mouth suddenly dry. “Speaking of… isn’t it about time you told me yours?”

  She shook her head slowly. “No, I don’t think so. Just because you broke the rules of stranger club doesn’t mean I’m going to.”

  “And how many times do you have to meet someone b
efore they stop being a stranger?”

  She shrugged and smiled unapologetically. “It varies.”

  I sighed. “Wasn’t there a fair trade clause somewhere in the stranger club charter?”

  She laughed full out now. “Fair trade only applies to questions, not names. But valiant effort.”

  When the bell rang abruptly, neither of us moved. I listened to the sounds of the couples around us, saying their goodbyes and starting for the next table. I sensed Faith’s new match, hovering at my elbow, waiting for me to move. Waiting for his five minutes with her. But I didn’t get up.

  “Linda is going to be mad at you,” she whispered, still grinning at me.

  “I don’t fucking care, Red,” I whispered back.

  “Dude, are you planning to move along any time soon?” Match number eight was not pleased with the delay. Five seconds later, the sound of a woman’s shrill voice, magnified through the megaphone, rang out in the air.

  “Sir! Yoo-hoo! There at table nine!” Her voice was stern, but still bubbly with enthusiasm. “Please remember the rule! When you hear the bell toll, it’s time to stroll!” She rang it again for added emphasis.

  Faith burst into laughter.

  “Alright, alright,” I said, pushing back from the table and rising to my feet. The waiting man immediately slipped into my spot and I turned my eyes to Faith, who was suddenly staring anywhere but in my direction. She looked a little crestfallen and, irrationally, I was pleased that the thought of me leaving upset her.

  I was so fucked up over this girl.

  Leaning down, I grabbed the strap of my easel case and slid it over my shoulder. When the man in my seat began to engage Faith in conversation, I extended my hand to her.

  Wide caramel eyes flew up to my face.

  I raised my brows and waggled the fingers on my open-palmed hand. “You coming, Red?”

  Her face broke into a smile as she nodded and slipped her hand into mine.

  Chapter 11

  Faith

  GRISLY FLOWER PETALS

  * * *

  My hand twined with his and I was startled by how much I liked the feeling of his calloused palm pressed warm against mine. I glanced apologetically at match number eight, muttered a quiet “sorry” under my breath, and allowed Wes to pull me to my feet.

  “Excuse me!” Linda’s voice boomed through the megaphone. “Sir! Miss! There will be time to mingle at the conclusion of all the sessions. Where are you going?”

  “Oh, shit!” I cursed, looking up at Wes. “We’re so busted.”

  He deliberated for a moment. “Well, there’s only one thing to do…”

  I stared at him for a suspended instant, wondering if he was going to make me sit back down and suffer through another string of potential suitors. To my relief, his hand didn’t release mine — it only tightened and tugged, as he took off running at a breakneck pace that had me tripping over my own feet.

  “Run!” he explained needlessly.

  I giggled, breathless and reeling, as we sprinted off the bank toward the path. Linda was chastising us with a fresh round of admonishments via the bullhorn, but there was no stopping us.

  “Call you later, Margot!” I shouted over my shoulder to my roommate, locking eyes with her for a brief moment. Her eyebrows had drifted high on her forehead and she looked slightly concerned by the fact that I was making a break for it with a man she’d never before laid eyes on, but her mouth was half-lifted in a grin, so I knew she wasn’t too distraught that I’d abandoned speed-dating night.

  “Be safe, you crazy bitch!” she yelled after me, which only made me laugh harder.

  We ran like fugitives. Like Bonnie and Clyde, bolting from a big heist with the law on our heels.

  There was no one chasing us, but that wasn’t the point. There was something exhilarating about holding hands with Wes Adams, running through City Park like lunatics, laughing so hard it was impossible to catch a good breath.

  * * *

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked, swallowing roughly.

  “It was my idea.”

  “Well, I’m just not sure I’m ready…”

  “You’re ready.”

  “I’m…um…”

  “Don’t tell me you’re backing out now.” His voice was teasingly exasperated.

  “It’s just so….high,” I whispered, tilting my head back to take in the sight of the towering Chain Bridge, sprawled out before us in all its glory. When my gaze swung down to the brown-blue waters of the Danube flowing below, I gulped nervously. I knew that, as far as bridges went, this one wasn’t exceedingly tall. But that knowledge did little to calm my stomach, which was flipping queasily at even the thought of the fifteen-minute walk across to the Buda side of the city.

  “It’s not that high,” Wes argued. “Even if you fell off — which you won’t — you’d probably walk away with nothing but a few bruises and a mouthful of river water.”

  I winced at the mental image of my body toppling over the railing.

  “You haven’t truly experienced Budapest until you’ve walked the Chain Bridge,” Wes pointed out.

  I nodded — I knew he was right. The famous suspension bridge had been a Hungarian landmark since its construction in 1849. Its distinctive square towers and the imposing, carved-stone lion statues that guarded either side made it one of the most beautiful sights in the entire city. Scores of tourists were walking it at this very moment, snapping pictures and laughing without a care as I deliberated on a sidewalk.

  Thus far, most of my exploring had been limited to the Pest side of the city for this very reason — I couldn’t work up the courage to walk across a damn bridge. The university, my apartment, and the Hermes offices were all in Pest and, after a bit of begging during my first shift, Konrad had agreed to give me delivery routes on that side only. So, I didn’t necessarily have to go to Buda. But if I didn't conquer this fear, I’d be missing out on half of the place I’d come to immerse myself in.

  Budapest was a city of split-personalities. Pest was a buzzing, bourgeois hub of restaurants, bars, clubs, and cafes; Buda was the richly historic home to the Royal Palace, Parliament, Castle Hill, and the Fisherman’s Bastion. Two distinct cities, one old and one new, divided by the Danube.

  As a history student, I really needed to explore the old side — and, if I wanted to avoid paying for a ferry or a taxi every time, it was paramount that I get my ass walking across the damn bridges. Pronto.

  Unfortunately, as with most things, this was much easier said than done.

  “I’m afraid of heights,” I squeaked out.

  “You don’t say.” Wes’ voice was amused.

  “You know, if you were a nice guy, you’d let me take the ferry. You wouldn’t make me do this.”

  He was silent for a long moment — so long I thought he might not respond at all — but, finally, he broke the quiet with one, tiny word that, for no logical reason at all, sent chills down my spine.

  “Hey.”

  The softness of his tone — something I’d never heard from him before — immediately caught my attention. I turned my worried gaze away from the bridge in order to meet his eyes, which were empty of their usual teasing light and, instead, full of sincerity. His hand lifted carefully to touch my face, like a cautious hunter might approach a wounded wild animal — slow and steady movements, giving me ample time to bolt if I didn’t want the contact. To flinch back or flee if crossing this line from simple strangers to something more wasn’t what I wanted.

  I didn’t flinch or flee. In fact, I stood so still, I barely breathed as two fingertips landed gently on my cheekbone, skimming like the lightest flutter of a butterfly’s wings against my skin.

  Stifling the involuntary gasp that threatened to escape my lips, I felt the electricity of his touch coursing through me like a current, from the tiny points of contact where the pads of his fingers smoothed away the worry lines on my face, all the way down to the soles of my feet. He traced slowly up the b
ridge of my nose, across my forehead, and down my temple, circling my eye in a caress so delicate I had to stop myself from leaning into his touch.

  “You’re right,” he whispered.

  My thoughts were honed so intently on his featherlight fingers, I couldn’t string words together to form a response.

  “I’m not a nice guy,” he told me in a hushed voice. “I’m not going to give you a free pass when it comes to doing things you’re afraid of. If that makes me an asshole, so be it. Phobias, fears — either they own you, or you own them. Whether you let them rule you — that’s your choice, Red. I don’t live my life hiding from the shit that scares me. I don’t believe in running from fears; I believe in facing them.”

  My lips parted in an exhale and I stared into his eyes, totally transfixed, as he spoke on.

  “And, if it makes it easier… If you need me to…” He swallowed roughly. “I’ll face this one with you.”

  He held out his hand for me to take and, without hesitation, I slid mine into his grasp. I didn’t know why, I couldn’t begin to explain it… but I trusted Wes implicitly. I looked into his eyes and thought, for the first time in a long time, for the first time maybe ever, someone had finally taken the time to look beneath my surface. To understand who I was deep down, where no one could see.

  Except him.

  He saw me.

  Not the Morrissey’s youngest child, or Saffron’s little sister. Not the homecoming queen or the honors-level history student.

  Just me. Just Faith.

  A flurry of nervous butterflies erupted in my stomach — and they had absolutely nothing to do with heights.

  “If I die on this bridge, I’m gonna be so pissed at you,” I whispered.

  “Aren’t you the one who’s always saying you just need to have a little faith?” he reminded me, that devilish, crooked smile playing on his lips. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

  I laughed. “Thanks for the reassurance. And, speaking of faith…”