Little Lies

by Elena M. Reyes

  I also find myself following Tero to a black Audi parked not far from Hortencia’s Delights. “Give me one second,” he says, walking toward the back driver’s side door and after pressing a key on his fob, opens it and places our packages on the seat. My six to his three, and he didn’t bat a single eyelash at the price, nor was I allowed to pay for my purchases. Once he’s done, like a gentleman he comes to the door I’m standing in front of and opens it for me, ushering me inside. “We have a bit of a drive, and Mr. Astor is waiting on us.”

  “Don’t I get a say in this?”

  “Convince me once I’m behind the wheel.” He winks at me before coming to the driver’s side and slipping in behind the wheel, and it doesn’t come across creepy or lecherous. On the contrary, there’s something about him that puts me at complete ease. “Now, you have until we reach the end of this street before I have to make a turn to change my mind about dragging you out to a location my boss is looking to buy.”

  “One, that sounds incredibly boring.” I tick off and then count the next before he can counter my honest answer. “And two, it’s my birthday, and I would rather be lazy and eat the chocolate in the back. Honestly, Tero. Let a girl live through the cocoa bean diet while Netflix and chilling.”

  “Okay,” he chokes with a laugh, covering it quickly behind a cough, “that was compelling and even somewhat on a soul-moving level. Very solid arguments.”

  “And?” I wave my hand in the air, no patience in me whatsoever after the weird morning I’ve had. Not to mention I’m also needing to change my locks before the day is through. “Do I win?”

  “You do, but don’t make a habit of getting me in trouble.”

  “I’d never.” The side eye he gives me lets me know he’s not buying the mock outrage, but it’s the sudden serious expression that makes me apprehensive. “What?”

  “What scared you back there?” His voice is low, and yet to my ears, it’s as if someone shot a cannon. My reaction is automatic, and I shrink back, leaning heavily on the passenger side door while avoiding his gaze. The buildings in my line of sight begin to blur a bit after a minute of silence and the car jerks forward hard; Tero’s pressed down on the accelerator harder than needed. “Tell me. We can help you if you’re in trouble.”

  “We?” I ask, still not turning to look over. The last thing I want is for Theodore to know he’s working with someone who is unstable. “Who is this we?”

  “Mr. Astor—”

  My head jerks toward his, my eyes narrowing. “You will not speak of this to him.”

  Those pastel-blue eyes narrow, his head tilting in the same manner he did outside of the building where he found me. “What is the this I will not speak of?”

  “Just a disagreement between friends.”

  “Just a disagreement?” he parrots, his expression unbelieving. “You seemed scared, not angry, Gabriella.”

  “She was angry and said something hurtful.” I shrug my shoulders, going for nonchalance, especially since I want to go home. Today has been eventful enough for me. “I’m probably overreacting to it and we’ll be fine by tonight.”

  “If you say so.” His tone says he doesn’t believe me.

  “I do.” Turning toward him again, I plaster a small grin on my face. “Now that you have an understanding of the inner workings to the female bonding insanity, how about you take me home? I’m itching to start the planning phase of my exhibit.”

  “On your birthday?”

  “What better day than the one I get to make the choice in how I spend it?”

  “Touché.” Tero laughs; the sound is loud and boisterous and a bit strange. It comes off as a wheeze and I join him, not stopping until tears spring to my eyes and I snort. Then he’s laughing at me, which creates a weird cacophony inside the enclosed space, and I can’t breathe by the time he’s slowing down. “You are something else, Miss Moore. Never change.”

  “I promise if—”

  “I take you home,” he finishes for me, pulling over to the end of the street and putting the car in park. The phone, which he’d put in one of the cupholders, is now in his hands and his thumb is flying across the screen as he types a message, hits send, and then sends another. For two minutes we sit in silence until the device pings and he shows me the response.

  As you wish. Please enjoy your day and the chocolates. ~Astor

  A second one comes through before he can close his phone.

  No work is allowed either. ~Astor

  The latter I give an inner eye roll to and instead smile. “Thank you.”

  “None needed, birthday girl.” Pulling off from the curb, he takes a familiar route toward my home after I give him the address, and I close my eyes. There are things that don’t make sense, but I’ll decipher them even if it kills me. Elise’s actions, the dress, and my dreams all have to mean something, and I plan to put an end to this mystery. I can’t go on like this. I can’t continue being scared or doubting everything because of a recurring nightmare. “Now let’s get you home.”

  “Once again, thank you for everything.”

  “I’ll take a nice painting as payment in the future.”

  At that, I bark out a laugh. “Done. My choice on the subject, though.”

  “Seems like a fair trade.” Another turn and my body sways with the movement, pulling closer to the door, and I open my eyes. We’re close to my home and after pulling into the driveway, Tero lets the car idle while rushing to get my boxes and then my door. I’m not given the chance to open my own, and he nods toward the door when I stay seated just watching him run around. “Or did you change your mind?”

  “No.” Shaking my head, I chuckle. “I’m just not used to seeing people move like that.”

  “Move like what?” He follows me up the three steps to my door, curiosity in his tone.

  “Precise and controlled.”

  “Should I be looser and clown-like?”

  “Not one bit.” Turning the key, I let us inside and motion toward the smaller sitting room to the right of the entryway. It’s the formal of the two with my TV room being at the far back near the kitchen. His eyes take in the space, nodding to himself a bit, and I can almost see a question sitting on the tip of his tongue. “Go ahead. Ask.”

  “Not a question, per se...”

  “Then?”

  “Just thought it’d be more contemporary and less flowery, is all.”

  “And you’d never know by my appearance that I’m fascinated by true crime documentaries. I live for that craziness and binge watch every single one I come across.”

  “Really?”

  “Netflix ones are the best. The bloodier the better.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” Tero places my boxes down atop the wooden coffee table. “I’m more partial to animal documentaries, snakes to be precise.”

  “Oh! What kind?” Because I’m a sucker for those too. That, and Shark Week.

  “Pythons. Constrictors in general, really.”

  “They are fascinating creatures.”

  His smile widens and those clear eyes light up. “Finally, someone else who gets it.”

  “Love those shows, but I’d probably freak out if I ever saw one up close. I’m a total chicken, then.” Grabbing the top box, I pull out a chocolate ganache macaron and take a bite. “God, these are so good. That bakery is about to make a killing off me if the rest is anywhere near this masterpiece.”

  “How deep is your sweet tooth?”

  “Never ending,” I manage to say before stuffing the rest in my mouth. “No shame either.”

  He raises a brow just as his phone pings with a text. “Yet, you chose savory instead at breakfast?”

  “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are never to be sweet. Those morsels are saved for the after.”

  “Noted.” His cell chimes again, and he takes it out of his pocket without looking at it. This one is a smaller device than the one in the car. How many phones does he have? “Three, but this one is for when I don’t answ
er the one you saw earlier, and no, you didn’t say that out loud. Your facial expressions are very telling.”

  “Makes sense.” Not really. “And the third?”

  “The third is for family only.” Before I can respond, he looks at the small screen and nods. “Well, this is where I leave you. The boss is calling.”

  “Okay.” Why am I so comfortable with him? “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Tero heads toward the door, reaching out for the knob but pauses when his hand touches the metal. “Would you like a lift to the gallery tomorrow? I don’t mind if—”

  “Yes.” No hesitation from me.

  “Good.” He doesn’t say anything else, stepping out into the early afternoon sun while I stay rooted in place. I ignore my home phone ringing from the kitchen and then the answering machine beeping with a message.

  Eventually, though, curiosity wins and I head toward the device that came with the house and I’ve been reluctant to throw away. I kept my uncle’s number too and just continued to pay the bill.

  Can you please answer me already, Gabby? I’m sorry for being a jerk today, and the dress looked really beautiful on you. Please don’t be mad and call me, your best friend, back who sucks at apologies.

  “What are you playing at, Elise?” She made a big deal out of my dress and my behavior and my “ruining” her moment, but everything was set up by her without my input. Without my permission and relates to my business, not hers.

  Why be overdramatic?

  Why purposely start a fight and hurt me?

  Why did I automatically think someone broke into my home when I have no proof?

  Those questions keep running through my head, further cementing my need to hole up for the day with junk food and some reality TV. Something light and funny and so far removed from any kind of drama that I can relax—forget.

  Mr. Pickles collar tinkles then, his chubby body trotting into the room, eyes searching every corner. He’s not being himself, trembling a bit, and I don’t hesitate to scoop him up in my arms while checking both his water and food dishes.

  His breakfast is gone and water a bit low, so I refill both while he snuggles deeper into my neck. That cold little nose makes me giggle, and I give him a few extra scratches on his back for the innocent love he gives without asking for anything in return.

  Because that’s what dogs do. They give and are loyal and bring happiness even in moments when you doubt yourself. When you need it the most.

  “Thank you, buddy.” Another kiss to his head, and then I say the two words that make him a giddy stinker. “Walk time.”

  8

  Gabriella

  There’s someone sitting on the porch steps, leaning against the railing and looking at her phone when we get back from our walk. She hasn’t seen us yet, and I’m half tempted to turn around and come back later, but Mr. Pickles takes that decision away from me when he growls. The sound is a low rumbling that catches Elise’s attention, and her eyes snap to mine.

  She looks at me with a sad expression as she stands, dusting off the back of her ripped-at-the-knee jeans. “Can we talk, please? Things got really out of hand and—”

  “We can.”

  A breath of relief leaves her. “Thank you. I know you’re—”

  I halt her rambling by holding my unoccupied hand up. “Coffee first, and then we’ll talk.”

  “Deal.” Not that I’m giving her a choice. I pick up my grumpy pupper and walk past her, opening my front door. Elise hasn’t made an attempt to follow me, and I look back over my shoulder and offer a small smile. “You can come in, chick. No one’s going to bite you.”

  At my words, she snorts, yet I do catch the dubious look she gives my dog—a dog that, while not overly friendly with her, has never bared his little teeth or barked. At the most, he avoids, and when left without a choice, lets her pet him with an annoyed look I find adorable.

  Mr. Pickles is a bit crotchety, but he’s my crotchety little guy.

  We don’t talk while making our way into the kitchen, nor after I let Mr. Pickles go to find something to do. Instead, she watches as I store everything we took away, the last being my cell phone, which I place atop the counter. The silence in the room is heavy, but she came to me and I wasn’t in the mood to make it easy on her.

  So I play the ignore game until she’s ready. I busy myself by washing my hands and then pulling down our preferred mugs from my cupboards. Hers is a princess thing in bubble-gum pink that I find atrocious, while mine is black and says The Blood Of My Enemies in bold red.

  And while the coffee percolates, I stand with my back against the counter and watch her. Right now, it feels as though I’m seeing her for the first time. I see a side that I do not like, and the grimace on her face tells me she’s aware.

  “Why?” I’m the first to break the silence, tired of this roundabout silence that gets us nowhere. My eyes are on hers, daring her to lie. To please help me understand this feeling of betrayal that consumes me.

  “Honest truth?” My response is the arch of my brow, which pulls a deep sigh from her. Almost as if she’s being forced to admit her fault, but the thing is, I’m not doing anything here. Elise came to me. “Fine. I was jealous of the attention you were getting, okay?”

  I can’t help but snort. “That’s it? That’s the best you can do?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Try again.”

  “Gabby, I’m serious.” Her face pinches at this, almost as if she’s smelling something foul. “I’m not trying to be mean, but look at you, and look at me.”

  “Not everyone likes blondes, Elise. Ever think of that?” There are other things I can point out: her attitude, unprofessionalism, and the way she practically threw herself at Theodore. He doesn’t like women like that. Like her. My subconscious sneers the words, but I keep my expression neutral, no matter how much all this bothers me—how much my body nearly recoils at the idea of them together. “And even if that’s the excuse you’re choosing to go with, how you treated me—embarrassed me—is unacceptable and quite frankly, a bit sad of you.”

  At my words, her eyes narrow. “Not in this case. I’ve done my research and—”

  “Are you stalking him?”

  “No.” She answers much too quickly, her body shifting a bit from her place across from me. Elise is on a counter stool, hands palms down on the butcher block top. “That’s stupid of you to even think that. I’m just better than...”

  “Me?” I end her trailed-off sentence, my own hackles rising. “Is that what you really think? That you’re better than me?”

  “Don’t take it personally, Gabby.”

  “Too late.” Pushing off the counter, I head to the fridge and pull out my creamer and walk back. The pot is done and I pour each of us a cup, preparing mine how I take it, while hers remains black. “You know where everything is.”

  “Don’t be like that. Let’s put this morning behind us and head out.” I’m not going to bother myself with answering her and stir my coffee, adding a bit more sugar at the end because I need something sweet to combat the bitterness her words are brewing within. “Come on. Girlfriends don’t argue over guys. We respect the rules and since I saw him first, you need to back off. Do so, and everything will go back to normal.”

  Bringing the cup to my lips, I take two sips. “That sounds like a threat.”

  “I don’t want to fight with you.”

  “And yet you warn me to back off?” Once again, heavy silence fills the room and I’m more than uncomfortable with her here. God knows I’m trying to work through this—trying to understand her—but my patience is at an end. Her words have more than hit a nerve, but then a thought hits me and I start to see another angle. What angle are you playing at? “I have a question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “When was the first time you saw Theodore Astor? Did he show interest in you?” Those last words taste bitter. I’m going to be sick if he’s touched her. It’s a thought I sh
ouldn’t have but can’t deny being true.

  Something happened between us at the cafe. The chemistry still lingers on my skin where he innocently touched me before leaving.

  “In person?”

  “In general.” At my question, Elise looks away and then chooses that moment to prep her own drink. She adds some sugar and milk, then takes a few sips to test it out. But what’s obvious is her sudden avoidance and the twitch in her hands. “Answer me.”

  “How is that any of your business?”

  “Answer me.”

  “Today was the first time physically, yet I’ve followed him for years. His face is kept out of the media for the most part and it’s hard to track him down, but I did. “That sounds stalker-ish. Elise flips her hair over her shoulder, twirling the end of one curl. “As you can imagine, he’s a busy man, and your work was the opening I needed so I jumped at the chance. And he’s just as handsome as the few photos I’ve downloaded.”

  “You’re here telling me to back off someone you just saw with your own eyes for the first time today? Where you embarrassed me, yourself, and him?”

  “That wasn’t my fault! You ruined everything wearing that trashy dress—”

  “Speaking of the dress...”

  “What of it?”

  “Did you come into my home and leave it here as a gift, or not?”

  Something crosses her face, a fearful expression, but it’s gone before I can fully decipher. What are you hiding? “So what if I did?”

  “Then why have a problem with me wearing it?” Nothing. Not a peep. “A birthday gift worn on my birthday. What a crazy notion.”

  “It was unprofessional to wear and you—”

  “To a meeting I didn’t ask for nor set up, and which I only found out about an hour before I needed to be there? That meeting?” My sarcasm is heavy, my glare just as icy as hers. I’m done being pushed around. “The same meeting where Theodore Astor ignored you, asked you to be quiet, and exchanged numbers with me?”