Lies & Secrets (Boston Latte Book 1)

by Fiona Keane

“Ah,” Liam sighed with delight. “Miss Leary. We meet again. It’s a pleasure to…have you been…crying?” My eyes wouldn’t lift from Julian’s, as his also remained on mine, but I saw Liam in my periphery as he inched toward me and placed his hands on my shoulder.

  “Don’t touch me,” I warned, finally tearing my empty gaze from Julian, jerking my body free of another Molloy’s grasp. I flew from the doorway toward the bedroom where Julian placed my luggage, slamming the door behind me.

  It wasn’t a mistake, and I knew it. I’m so messed up. Falling onto the mattress, the tears consumed me. I wanted to destroy the room, take anything I could smash and break it. I wanted to tear the expensive and ridiculously luxurious comforter to shreds, sending feathers everywhere. That’ll be a bitch to clean up, Molloy. Dammit! Why did I let him kiss me? Why did I kiss him? I’m going to be sick. This cannot be happening. My resolve was fading, crumbling from me with each sob of…what am I feeling? Anger? Regret? Excitement? Wanting. That ass! The muffled sound of voices distorted from the other side of the door, catching my fuzzy attention.

  “No…crying…stop…never…I wouldn’t do…she…knows…shit…Maureen…I did…no…I will.”

  It didn’t make sense to me, the content unfamiliar but the context entirely transparent. It was about me; it was about Julian and me. Us. I rolled over on the mattress, kicking my suitcase from the foot of the bed. The loud thud that resulted silenced the voices outside. Now I just need it to silence the voice in here. Stop thinking about it.

  I looked around, studying my new prison. The dresser was the perfect thing to push in front of the door, considering it was conveniently without a lock. Pervert. I bounded toward the dresser, pushing with my hands, my hips, and even my shoulder, struggling to barricade myself. I hadn’t thought through how I would eat, but considering Julian informed me my life was a lie, I didn’t care much about spending time in it anymore. I could starve, and he wouldn’t care less. Maybe I’ll be his eighth after all. I was sweating from exerting myself, or perhaps it was nerves as my body spiraled down from having spent the last half an hour on Julian’s floor…with him…and his hands…and his mouth…Oh God, help me.

  This all had to be part of his plan. Surely he expected me to believe everything he spilled in his fictional story about Elliott and Malcolm as a pathetic attempt to win my trust or to have me believe him so I would be even more likely to become his victim. Maybe it was Julian who wanted my money—although I couldn’t imagine why because he clearly had no concern in the financial sector. My lips are still on fire.

  I slouched against the side of the dresser, pulling my knees beneath my chin while I reflected. Elliott stabbed me in the back, breaking my trust by introducing me to the man who attacked me and left me unconscious in the hospital. He brought Malcolm into my life. What about Emma? Granted, this was all according to a killer. Elliott and Malcolm were after my money; Elliott used whatever we invested in the coffee shop to gamble and payoff sharks, which brought the Molloys into this twisted chaos. I still had so many questions. Was Julian a shark? Why would he loan the money to Elliott? What benefit does he have to do this without me knowing?

  I couldn’t fathom why Julian or his family would want to loan the coffee shop any money other than they wanted more people beneath them, dependent upon the Molloy family’s actions. It must have been simply a practice of their power. The government wasn’t enough for them; they needed to have their fingers in small business. I couldn’t decide who was more corrupt—Elliott and his family or Julian. What benefit did Julian have by involving himself with any of this? Why had he intervened? And for some additionally messed up reason, and as a twisted favor for him saving my life three times, I needed to pretend to be Julian’s girlfriend in public to protect his reputation. Because someone was using the press to destroy him? Me? Why?

  “Miss Leary?” a woman whispered from behind the door, her knuckles tapping against the panels. Yay! A friend! Not. I ignored her call for my attention, cowering in my corner next to the dresser.

  She huffed while struggling to push open the door. “Miss Leary, it’s just me. It’s Maureen. Would you be a doll and open the door?” Maureen. Another damn Molloy to keep me entertained and fill my cloudy mind with distorted facts and trivia about my life. Lovely.

  “I brought you some clothing, as my brother requested,” she continued, “and I stopped at your apartment to collect some of your belongings. You left your phone there, so I brought it. Please let me in, dear.” My phone? That was Julian’s phone. Not mine. And who the hell gave her permission to enter my home? Probably her brother. Ass. Dammit.

  With a quiet groan, I stood and approached the opposite end of the dresser, pushing it with all of my might to clear the way for Princess Molloy. I wiped the trickle of sweat from my brow with my sleeve before wiping away the tears I cried over Maureen’s brother. Opening the door just enough to see her face, I was startled when Maureen pushed the entire panel forward and barged into the bedroom. Her arms were overwhelmed with multiple shopping bags.

  “It’s wonderful to see you again,” she exclaimed, dropping her bags on the bed before spinning to clutch my shoulders. Her lips pecked my cheek, leaving their venomous red tint on my skin. When she pulled away to remove the large fur coat draping her diminutive frame, I frantically rubbed the cuff of my sleeve against my cheek to remove her lipstick.

  “I don’t need or want any of that. But thank you, Miss Molloy.” I ignored her bubbly, domineering greeting. Maureen placed her coat on the pillows atop the bed and sorted through the shopping bags.

  “Well,” she sighed while sorting, “we don’t have a say in the matter. Seeing as you’ll be here for a while, I brought everything you’ll need. Pajamas, knickers, jeans, a few sweaters, some dresses. Oh!” She turned to me, her eyes sparkling when she secured a small box from within one of her bags. She better move those damn things. I’m getting tired.

  “This was especially fun to find. Consider it my gift to you, as a small welcome to the family.” Maureen shoved the box toward me, the corner poking my crossed arms. “Please, take it.”

  I reluctantly obliged, sneering at her comment. “I’m not in your family, Miss Molloy. I’m just staying here until—”

  “Honey,” she interrupted, placing her right hand around my wrist, the weight of her diamond bangles pulling down both of our arms, “I have known for quite some time about you and my brother. It will be our little secret.”

  “What?” Oh, this is marvelous. What the hell is she talking about? I yanked my arm from her, slowly stepping back with her tiny box in my hands. Maureen draped her long brown hair around her right shoulder while she continued speaking, her bright red lips distracting my vision.

  “Julian hasn’t been an easy man to tame, from what I understand,” she cooed, returning to her bags. “When I heard from Liam that you two were ready to go public with your relationship, I nearly fell over. I can’t believe either of them kept this from me for so long.”

  “To tame?” I couldn’t imagine Julian as anything anyone would desire. Lies. All lies. He is fucking stunning. Stop. Mind, just go to sleep. Maureen giggled mindlessly while she placed items in the dresser drawers. She paced back and forth from the bed and closet, hanging dresses and organizing shoes. The fabric in that small space alone rivaled any inheritance I received. Oh, Elliott and Malcolm. Lies?

  “I always thought Liam would settle down first,” she continued. “I hear he’s also…well…never mind. So, darling, should we discuss our dinner plans?” I shook my head and crossed my arms in response.

  “What exactly did your brothers tell you?” I demanded, ready to squish that box and flush whatever was inside of it. She spun around, holding a long black coat over her left forearm, her crimson lips parting into a debilitating smile. I need to know which dentist these people go to.

  “Let’s talk about it over dinner.”

  “No, thank you. I’m not leaving the room.”

  Maureen smiled at m
e, her lips continuing to rival the mouth of any model in a fashion magazine. In the three times I saw her, I never believed Maureen to be a gossip, but she was already divulging enough to make the insides of my body swirl into mush. Mushier mush than they already were, which was pretty mushy. Julian and his stupid mouth.

  Maureen’s sparkling blue eyes rolled before she stepped into the closet and hung up the coat. She purchased more than I would need for the week Julian expected me to stay there. I glanced around her, observing the closet already stuffed with luxurious fabrics. Maureen spun around the door, quietly closing the knob and turning to take my arm like the possessive wench she was.

  “Open this,” she encouraged. It hurt to move my eyes to the box, the lids burning from the time I spent crying over—my heart pounded simply thinking of it—him. Maureen sighed at my reluctance, taking it from my hands and greedily opened the package. She tossed the teal box onto the bed, holding her palm out before me.

  “It’s eighteen karat white gold. There are at least fifty sapphires on there,” she informed, describing in detail the ring resting in the palm of her manicured hand. “It’s Tiffany.”

  It must have been a joke, some part of the farce meant to taunt me. The rich blue gemstones reflected like prisms, reminding me that even through jewelry Julian would force me to think of him. The stones were the deepest navy, sparkling at me just like his eyes.

  “Put it on,” she encouraged, taking my right hand while my body froze at the concept of such an expensive piece of jewelry being anywhere near me, “God, it looks gorgeous on you. You have such perfect hands. So dinner?” Screw my life. All of it. Just…how did I get here?

  “They left over an hour ago.” Maureen hummed, her small hand guiding me from the bedroom. “Who knows when they’ll return? Who cares? Well, I’m sure you’re eager for Julian to come home.” Nope.

  Maureen’s diamond-bound wrist dropped from my back once we reached Julian’s kitchen. It was incredibly awkward to be in his home with his sister while he wasn’t there. Where was he? I could only imagine Julian and Liam were out together terrorizing the city, and I expected my sleep to be lost due to the sounds coming from Julian’s room later that evening. I need to get out of here. Maureen pulled a chilled bottle of white wine from Julian’s fridge, collecting two glasses from his cabinet, and made herself at home.

  “Riesling?” she questioned, smiling at me. “Julian has at least seven bottles in there. I can’t imagine why. He hates anything but antiquated red wines. Would you like pasta or sandwiches? He’s had both delivered.”

  She beamed, pouring our glasses to the brim while her smile widened. “Tell me, darling, how are things going?”

  Wonderful. Hadn’t your brother told you he kidnapped me, held me hostage, then rescued me, all the while omitting the fact he knew my best friend tried to have me killed? Captain Romance right there, Maureen. He is clearly making the family legacy worth its weight in wonderfulness. “Fine.”

  She scoffed playfully, her head shaking between sips. “You’re so naughty. Lord, you two.”

  I lifted my hands in protest, prepared to defend myself against her twisted accusations that Julian and I were together. But…were we, according to Maureen? Was she on the “outside”? Shit.

  “When I learned the entire reason Julian made the contract with your coffee shop was because of his feelings for you, I almost died. That was simply the most romantic thing I ever heard,” Maureen purred, sipping from her wine glass. “Proves a little challenging for Noelle.” So I’ve heard.

  I watched Maureen’s fingers lift the sparkling wine glass to her painted lips, in awe of how precisely manicured her fingernails were. Whoa. Wait one fucking little, teeny weeny second here. Feelings for me? Motherfucking Molloy. I can’t believe he has everyone fooled. Let me piece this shit together. The last time I enjoyed such a delightful family meal with the Molloys at that table, Liam and Julian were arguing over telling me information, which Julian had me believe was simply about Malcolm’s attempt to kill me again. But the press? Julian’s reputation? Why me? Feelings. I’ll give that slimy but enticingly gorgeous man with the deliciously satisfying lips something to feel! My fist right in his face, that’s for sure. He won’t be kissing anyone like he kissed me again anytime soon. Feelings. What the hell is that? I was ready to ignite, spontaneously combust across from Maureen at her brother’s kitchen table. I need to get the story straight.

  “Miss Molloy,” I whispered, catching her gaze.

  “Maureen,” she corrected. “You’re staying in my brother’s home, we’re drinking his wine. You can drop the formalities with me, dear.” I don’t want to. That makes you people real. I couldn’t read Maureen. Is she as lethal? More so? Is she an idiot? Simply a pretty face unwittingly used as a decoy? I suppose I’ll have to do some digging and find out what I can. Then I will gladly put on her extravagant Tiffany ring and punch Julian in the pretty face, leaving the imprint of multiple shimmering sapphires. Why did I have to think of him? My mind was heavy, plopping against my skull despondently. Feelings. I don’t do them, especially fake feelings. Faux feelings. That’s a fancier word; it suits these fancy bastards.

  “Maureen,” I adhered my fake smile, knowing it wouldn’t rival hers. “Your brother mentioned a dinner we’re attending this weekend.”

  “We’ll all be there,” she informed. “Our grandfather is receiving an award for successfully passing legislation that requires more protection for refugees entering New England. It’s a very important occasion. I expect Julian’s invited you?”

  I nodded, playing her game. “Proves challenging for Noelle.”

  “Eh.” Maureen stepped away to grab the bottle of wine and refill our glasses, her smile fading. “I don’t think you have much to worry about except for, of course, her lineage and our grandfather’s plans for Julian to marry her.”

  “Right.”

  “Oh.” She covered her mouth, hiding the stain darkened by wine. “I didn’t mean anything against you at all. You’re just…well…so different than whom I think they expected Julian wed. That’s all.” Stop this train right now, lady.

  “Whoa.” A nervous laugh escaped my lips, my cheeks burned with blush, and my hands lifted in defense. “We’re not…I’m…he’s…we’re…no. We’re not getting married.”

  “We’ll see.” Maureen grinned, her eyes glossing in response to her third glass of wine. I wasn’t surprised. Maureen appeared to have gone without food for the last decade; her diminutive frame was barely a shell poured into designer clothing and fine jewelry.

  “When I met you that day you and your brother came to my coffee shop, you said you were glad to finally meet me. What’d you mean finally?” How long had she been waiting to meet me? How long had they been talking about me? Who was talking about me?

  “I heard a lot about you from Mr. Daly,” she stated as though it was a simple truth. “He mentioned you quite frequently while you were away. He talked about you every time we would stop in.” Of course. It was ridiculously naïve of me to imagine she had excitement over meeting me because of Julian’s faux feelings.

  “Wait,” my brows met while I thought out loud, “but you said Julian arranged for you to make a contract with my shop because he had feelings for me.” Faux, faux, faux, this jerk is going to get some serious passive aggression when he returns.

  “Are you inquiring as to whether or not he spoke of you, dear?” she cooed, her smile loopy and wide, molding right into my hands. “He spoke of you with Elliott Daly, but it wasn’t until a few days ago when I spoke with Liam that I began putting together the pieces. Isn’t it obvious?” That your family is mentally unstable and I should write a letter to the governor about you? Yes. That’s clear as crystal, babby. Maureen’s thin, bony fingers stretched across the table, wrapping around my wrist. I was beginning to seriously wonder why the Molloys felt they could touch me like air to be inhaled. Her expression faded from the smiling buzz of wine into something concerning.

 
“You realize what’s happening, don’t you?” What? What’s happening? They’re all plotting my death and she’s simply here to soften the blow with her wine and fancy jewelry?

  “We’re missing dinner.” She winked at me, erupting with giggles. My stomach flew to my throat, anticipating a truth these fools continued to evade.

  “I need to lie down,” I lied, scooting my chair from the table and standing. “Thank you for the clothes and wine.” Spinning on my heel, I left the kitchen faster than my knees knew to bend, carrying me back into the guest bedroom occupied by my faux clothes, faux jewelry, and blankets with Julian’s scent intricately woven into each fiber. I couldn’t get the facts straight or align their story. Is Maureen in on the faux-ness? Is Liam? I began to think Julian was right all along; he would leave me wanting. Waiting, wanting, exhausted.

  Maureen’s shopping bags flew from the bed as I shoved them with irritation, clearing a space for me to burrow beneath the covers. I had no idea what time it was, and I didn’t care. My heart weakened, my skin still on fire from Julian. Julian and our kiss. Swallowing the thought, hoping to flush it through my system, I climbed onto the soft mattress and wrestled myself beneath the covers.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The machine beeped in a methodic symphony around me, surrounding my sleeping existence with a constant reminder that my mind continued to fight. It was silent but for the machine and occasional depressing sound of a quiet nurse or doctor entering just to check vitals, never staying long enough to check the rest of me. Nobody bothered to examine my heart, to check my soul. Nobody cared. With the exception of Emma and Elliott on one occasion, I had no visitors. In how long? I couldn’t remember. My body ached, but not with the excruciating burn surrounding my heart. My eyes were covered with a band of gauze that gifted my sight with the opportunity to forget color, to forget life. In the darkness, I could only think.

  “Psst,” a low voice whispered from somewhere in the room. It snapped me from a stupor, the soft rumble of his voice responsible for my heart monitor reacting with an extra beep after each crest.