Little White Lies

by Lizzie Shane

  “So be different.”

  He made it sound so easy. “You don’t understand my family.”

  “Whose fault is that?”

  She winced at the direct hit, but he shook his head before she could respond. “Never mind. Let’s get ready for dinner. Your mother says it’s in half an hour and we’re supposed to dress up.”

  “Your things are in the closet.” The words were inane, but they were the best peace offering she had.

  Her stomach had stopped roiling—now feeling instead like it had been filled with lead. The one thing she’d never thought was at risk on this trip was her friendship with Pretty Boy. If she lost that, she didn’t know what she would have left.

  Though from the stiff line of his shoulders, sharing the bed didn’t look like it was going to be much temptation so at least she didn’t have to worry about that. He’d probably sleep on a chair rather than be near her if his posture was anything to go by.

  Which was good. She didn’t want more from him. She never had.

  Tomorrow the groom’s side would arrive. Her mother would doubtless have an array of activities planned to keep them busy. Then the rehearsal, the wedding, the reception, and then it would be over and she could return to her regularly scheduled life. She just had to make it through this.

  And hopefully not lose her best friend along the way.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Four and a half years ago…

  Her face felt weird.

  Candy sat at the conference table, excruciatingly aware that her smile must look like it was carved from plastic, but incapable of replacing it with a more natural expression. She was supposed to be briefing Pretty Boy on his next job. Since no one was looking at her like she’d grown a second head, she hoped she was doing a decent job of it, but she barely heard the words coming out of her own mouth.

  How did people do this? How did they simply act like nothing had happened? How did he do it? Because Pretty Boy looked normal. Casual. But then, nothing ever fazed Pretty Boy. Not even frantically screwing her in a bathroom, apparently.

  She’d had a few lovers who’d lasted more than a night and she’d always been able to keep her distance. Why then did things feel so different with Pretty Boy? Was it just the fact that they were coworkers? Or was it him?

  He looked up then, so freaking casual she wanted to throw something at him, and his gaze slid from Max to land on her—

  And her heart stopped.

  Holy shit. The way he looked at her. Nothing changed in his face, but there was something in his eyes. Like he remembered what she felt like, the sounds she made as he pinned her to the door and pounded into her until—

  “Candy?”

  Max was frowning at her. Probably because she’d stopped talking. And she had no idea where she’d been in her spiel before Pretty Boy looked at her.

  Shit. Not professional. She couldn’t be fantasizing about him at work. Not. Professional.

  She had to do better than this. She wasn’t some dopey girl with a crush. She was a grown woman. A professional. She could beat this.

  “Sorry,” she murmured. “Where was I?”

  Pretty Boy just smiled, damn him, like he knew exactly what had distracted her, and she pursed her lips tightly. She would beat this.

  *

  Present day…

  “Candice!” An overly jolly voice called out to them as soon as they stepped out of their suite on the way to dinner. Candy turned to find her oldest brother stepping out of the suite that mirrored theirs. “And this must be the mystery husband. Damn. I had a hundred bucks that you didn’t exist.”

  “Against whom?”

  “Hmm?” Scott pulled his gaze to hers with effort and she noticed the massive black of his pupils and the careful way he held himself upright. Six o’clock. Of course her brother was already plastered. Or high. She’d never been able to tell what he was under the influence of. He’d always been so highly functioning that it was often hard to tell, but there’d been a looseness to his walk as he approached that gave him away and made her chest tighten in instinctive reaction.

  His light hair was starting to thin and his blue eyes now had a watery look to them. He’d been handsome once, but now all she could see when she looked at him was the decades of dissipation he wore on his face.

  “Who did you bet?” Candy repeated.

  “Oh. Aiden. He’s such a sucker. Though I guess you do exist after all. Pity.” He waved them toward the stairway that led down to the main house. “Shall we? Mustn’t be late, you know. Appearances must be upheld.”

  They began to move down the hall, Scott weaving only slightly. He was very good at keeping up appearances, though it looked like his latest stint in rehab hadn’t stuck any better than the previous six.

  “Sounded like you were having some fight in there,” he commented conversationally, waving a hand back toward their room. “I take it you kissed and made up?”

  Candy hid her cringe and made a mental note to keep her voice down, even when they were in their own room. She was starting to feel like a spy behind enemy lines—an analogy that was entirely too apt with her family. “Where’s your wife?” she asked instead of dignifying his question with an answer. “Did she already head down?”

  “Alas, dearest Eleanor decided she couldn’t be bothered to make the trip. Something about taking the kids out of school or summer camp or something. Don’t tell Mother. I’m hoping she won’t notice.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  Scott snorted as if she’d told a joke and swayed cheerfully down the hall toward the dining room. “Have you two met the groom yet? Care to place any bets on how long it will be until this one comes out of the closet?”

  “Scott,” she scolded.

  “What?” he asked innocently. “I’m getting it out of my system. God knows I can’t say what everyone is thinking in front of Mommie Dearest.”

  Candy shot Ren a triumphant look—see? She wasn’t the only one who thought her mother was a harridan. It wasn’t just her imagination. But Ren wasn’t looking at her. His attention had been caught by the woman striding down the side hall to join them. “Candice! It’s been ages!”

  “Hello, Alicia.” Candy accepted the maid of honor’s hug, for once not having to stretch up to wrap her arms around someone.

  Charlotte’s bestie since their debutante days was beautiful and flawlessly put together in a sleek designer sheath that made Candy feel like she was wearing sackcloth. Lovely in a delicate, childlike way that cleverly concealed a savvy political brain, Alicia had mastered the art of being adorable and still sexy at the same time.

  The last time Candy had seen her, Alicia had been newly engaged and madly in love, but now there was a suspicious lack of a ring on her finger and her smile widened appreciatively when she spotted Ren. “Hel-lo, handsome.”

  Candy linked her arm with Pretty Boy’s and leaned into his side, smiling with all of her teeth. “Alicia, I don’t believe you’ve met my husband, Ren. Ren, this is my sister’s best friend and maid of honor, Alicia Whitcomb.”

  Alicia pouted prettily. “Figures you’d be married. All the good ones are taken.”

  “Aren’t we though?” Scott asked, cheerfully including himself in the ‘good ones’ group.

  Alicia’s smile was distinctly less enthusiastic as she glanced past Ren. “Scott.”

  “Alicia.”

  Candy knew Alicia and an already-married-at-the-time Scott had hooked up at Charlotte’s first wedding—walking in on them in the coat closet was an image she could never unsee—but the pair didn’t appear to be interested in rekindling their wedding fling. In fact, the air between them seemed downright frigid.

  “Shall we?” Alicia nodded in the direction of the formal drawing room. “I know tardiness is the eighth deadly sin in Mrs. Raines’s book.”

  Scott glanced at his watch and they all moved more quickly down the hall.

  Her parents were already in the drawing room, standing together at th
e mantle as if they hadn’t lived separate lives for the better part of the last decade. Her grandfather wasn’t present, but he liked to make a grand entrance and was the only one in the Montgomery-Raines family who routinely flouted her mother’s punctuality rule.

  Charlotte rose from a settee, as graceful and blonde as Grace Kelly in her prime, and swanned toward them with outstretched arms. “Candice. Scott. I’m so pleased you could make it.”

  The words were perfect—if a little formal—but there was no warmth behind them. Perfect. And perfectly rehearsed. Charlotte to a tee.

  Candy moved forward, introducing Ren, stapling her smile in place and praying for something to divert attention away from them when her mother noticed Scott’s wife’s absence and descended on him in a cloud of tasteful House of Creed perfume to inquire if Eleanor was unwell. Candy tucked herself closer to Ren’s side to make the two of them a smaller target for shrapnel when Scott told their mother Eleanor wasn’t coming and Regina exploded.

  “What do you mean she isn’t coming? Charlotte’s getting married.”

  “Yeah, I figured that was what the wedding invitation meant.”

  Her mother chose to ignore the sarcasm. “What kind of woman doesn’t make an appearance at her own sister-in-law’s wedding?”

  That was her mother. All about the appearances.

  “The kind who would divorce her husband in a heartbeat if that wouldn’t cut her out of Grandpa Dalton’s will?”

  Regina pursed her lips. “That isn’t amusing, Scott.”

  He lifted the scotch he’d somehow poured while the rest of them were greeting one another. “Really? I think it’s fucking hysterical.”

  “Scott! Language!”

  “You’re telling me there’s someone in this room who hasn’t heard the word fuck before?”

  Her mother was wearing her my-greatest-disappointment face which seemed reserved for Candy and Scott. “I’m telling you there are things a civilized gentleman doesn’t say in mixed company.”

  Scott snorted. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m completely uncivilized.”

  A new voice joined the conversation. “No one’s arguing with that.”

  The group who’d been watching the ping pong match between Scott and their mother turned as one to face the newcomer, and Candy felt her lips lifting in her first natural smile of the day at the sight of her youngest brother.

  Aiden looked even more handsome than she remembered. Her baby brother had finally filled out, growing into the promise of his shoulders, and his face had lost the last of its youthful softness. He was tall, handsome as a Kennedy, and his green eyes glittered with humor and just a dash of contrition so even their mother couldn’t stay annoyed with him. “Sorry I’m late. The twins refused to settle.”

  “And how are my god-children?” Charlotte asked, crossing to hug Aiden warmly. They weren’t huggers and Charlotte wasn’t warm, but Aiden was the exception to every rule.

  “So that’s the golden boy,” Pretty Boy commented, his voice suddenly too close to her ear.

  She jumped, startled, and turned to face her “husband.” He put a proprietary hand on the small of her back and she shivered at the contact. The rest of her family was gathering around Aiden like campers around a fire on a cold night. “My brother Aiden,” she confirmed. “Come on. I’ll introduce you.”

  They joined the circle of devotees around her brother and Candy waited for a break in the conversation to introduce Ren, but before she got the chance her grandfather made his entrance and all conversation halted according to Dalton Montgomery decree.

  “What’s all this commotion?” he demanded—but his voice didn’t carry its usual force. He sounded more querulous and confused.

  “Father.” Her mother crossed to his side to take his arm—and for the first time in Candy’s memory it looked like an attempt to support her grandfather rather than a power play to put her directly next to the most influential man in the room. “We were just greeting Aiden. Doesn’t he look well?”

  “Huh.” Dalton Montgomery squinted critically at Aiden and Candy felt a strange pressure in her chest. Her grandfather looked more frail than she’d ever seen him. He’d always been larger than life. A big, blustery man with a barrel chest, a loud voice, and a fierce glower whenever anyone tried to go against his wishes, but now the dictator in her memory had vanished inside the old man in front of her.

  He’d changed drastically since she’d seen him last. Two years ago? Three? Charlotte made weekly pilgrimages to pay homage to the fountainhead of power in their family, but Candy had avoided the great Dalton Montgomery whenever possible. And now she wondered how long he’d been like this—a great man in his own mind wasting into old age.

  But her mother smiled as if nothing was wrong. “Shall we go into dinner?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Four years and five months ago…

  Patience didn’t come naturally to Ren, but he’d learned to be patient when he needed to be. Not for the first time, he thanked God he’d learned discipline along with his martial arts training. Otherwise he might have lost his mind waiting for Candy to admit she wanted him again.

  It had been five weeks. He’d expected she would need a few days to think about things, but he was almost starting to wonder if he’d misjudged, if she wasn’t going to change her mind at all, if that one insane encounter in the bathroom of a club whose name he couldn’t even remember was going to be all they ever had.

  Then he walked out of the Elite Protection offices one evening to find her glaring down at her car.

  There is a God.

  Candy loved her gadgets, loved being on the cutting edge of technology—which meant she drove an untested prototype electric car that had an unfortunate tendency to die on her when it sat too long in the parking lot.

  “When are you going to get one that runs?”

  “Soon.” She turned to face him, her expression unamused.

  He arched a brow at his bike in silent invitation.

  Her gaze slid helplessly to the bike where it crouched, waiting, in the next spot and she hesitated, as if weighing the lesser of two evils. “I have to wonder if you sabotaged my car just to get me on that thing.”

  Ren’s hopes took a nosedive. Okay. Maybe this wasn’t fate intervening on his behalf. Maybe this wasn’t going to end the way his dick wanted it to. Maybe she wasn’t interested in a repeat performance or anything more from him. She still needed a ride—just not the kind his other head wanted him to give her.

  “I don’t think I could figure out how to sabotage that thing without the help of a NASA engineer.” He flipped open the storage compartment and pulled out a spare helmet. “No strings,” he promised.

  She plucked the helmet from his hand. “Thanks.

  Pretty Boy smiled—hoping it didn’t look like a grimace. “What are friends for?”

  He straddled the bike, strapping on his own helmet before holding out a hand for her, helping her balance as she threw her own leg over the saddle. He didn’t ask if she’d ever ridden a bike before—her stiffness spoke for itself. He closed his fingers around her hand when she would have taken it back, placing it on his waist.

  “Don’t let go,” he murmured, his voice sounding husky to his own ears through the helmet microphone as he fired up the engine.

  *

  Present day…

  She should have known her mother would have planned a seating chart even for just a casual family dinner. Nothing ever went unplanned when Regina Montgomery-Raines was on hand.

  Her grandfather sat at the head of the table, with Charlotte in a place of honor at his right hand and Aiden at his left. On Charlotte’s side of the table, her mother had seated Scott, Alicia and Ren, so that Ren was in easy interrogation range to where Regina presided over the foot of the table with her husband to her right. Candy sat between her father and Aiden, filling out the far side.

  Which meant she was close enough to hear most of what her parents were saying to Ren,
but not close enough to gracefully intervene if things started to go south.

  Scott attempted to flirt with Alicia—who was visibly unimpressed and spent most of the meal smiling adoringly at Ren. Charlotte did her best to ignore Scott’s attempts to bait her as well, her attention fixed on her grandfather—so Scott made friends with his whiskey glass instead.

  As the soup course was served, Candy focused on her food—catching snippets of the conversations batting around the table.

  “What do your parents do, Ren?”

  Candy perked up, listening to see if he would lie. Rock star and performance artist were fairly specific careers.

  “I was raised by my grandparents. He was a carpenter and she was a homemaker.”

  Her mother glowed with approval. “I will never understand why women these days feel the need to work outside the home. Taking care of your family is a full-time job.”

  Her mother, the feminist.

  “Some people need the money, Mother. And some people just like having a purpose in life other than breeding and taking care of their man,” Candy interjected, and immediately regretted opening her mouth when her mother sent her a death glare. Okay then. Back to her soup.

  A conversation from the opposite end of the table reached her ears.

  “I’m not having a bachelorette party, Scott, and if I were going to indulge in such a vulgar tradition, I certainly wouldn’t want my brother to arrange male strippers for me.”

  “Not strippers. Escorts. You gotta get your rocks off while you can. I bet you a hundred bucks Tug is going to have pros at his bachelor party.”

  “Tug doesn’t need strippers or pros or any caveman rituals to be ready to marry me. We made the decision to skip the bachelor and bachelorette parties together.”

  Scott caught Candy’s eye across the table, giving her a significant look as if the lack of bachelor party was a comment on Tug’s sexuality, his expression exaggerated thanks to the whiskey.

  A gentle hand brushed her right arm. “You okay?”

  Aiden.

  She’d left him behind when she was eighteen and hadn’t looked back, but somehow he’d turned out reasonably well-adjusted, in spite of the pressure of the Montgomery-Raines clan. Or so she’d believed before that late-night phone call. “Are you?” she countered softly. “You sounded pretty rattled on the phone the other night.”