“Is that what you’re afraid of? Sure, that would be terrible, Luke, but isn’t it worse not knowing at all? Isn’t it worse just imagining all that could go wrong instead of enjoying what could be right? Is that what you’re doing? Hiding from the possibilities?”
“I’m not hiding,” he said firmly. “I love you, and I love what we have. I just don’t see why we have to complicate things.”
“Complicate?” I pulled my hand away. “Is that what I am to you? A complication?”
“Clara, no, I didn’t mean—”
I pushed away from the table, the roar of my chair against the linoleum interrupting him. “Are you ever going to want everything with me, Luke? Or is this all there is for us? Because if this is it—dinners and rare dates, coming over in the middle of the night for sex—then I need to know now.”
“Don’t make it seem like you’re some…” He groaned. “Like I’m using you. I’ve been good to you, Clara. I take care of you. I love you as much as I can right now. I’ve got so much on my plate, and—”
“Is this all there is for us? This?” I repeated, fighting back bitter tears as they filled my eyes. “I just need a yes or a no.”
He cocked his head to the side, staring at me strangely. “Things have always been so good with us. Why are you pushing for more now?”
“Because, Luke, I’m not getting any younger. So much of my life has been wasted on the wrong men and the wrong careers, and I’m finally figuring it all out. I’ve given you so many years of my life, and we’re no closer to commitment than we were back then, are we?”
“I’m committed to you, Clara. What will it take to show you that? I love you. I’m in love with you. I tell you that every day.”
I stood up and he did the same, though I wasn’t trying to get past him, only closer to him. “I need you to do more than tell me. I need you to prove it. I need you to take the next step.”
His face went ashen. “Marry you?”
“God. Is that such a scary thing?” I brushed a tear from my cheek. Please say no. Please say you will.
“I can’t marry you, Clara.”
I let out a noise somewhere between a sigh and a sob. “What do you mean you can’t?”
His eyes darted between mine, his lips parting. “I…” He hung his head, breaking eye contact. “I should’ve told you sooner. I was just so afraid to lose you.”
“Told me what, Luke? What are you talking about?” Ice-cold fear filled my intestines.
“I don’t believe in marriage. As much as I love you, I’ll never be able to marry you.”
I sucked in a sob. “W-what? How could we have gone this long and that never came up?”
“Because I was a coward,” he said, placing a hand on his forehead. “Because I never wanted to lose you or hurt you or break your heart. I didn’t want to disappoint you—I don’t.”
I backed away from him. “I can’t believe this.”
He stepped toward me, reaching for my hands. “I don’t want to fight—”
“I just need some space,” I said, turning away from him and making my way around the table. “I’m sorry, I think you should go.”
He took hold of my arm and spun me around, his eyes swimming with tears of his own. “I won’t survive losing you. Tell me what I can do. Please, Clara. I’ll do anything. Anything except that.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know if there’s anything you can do. I want a husband, Luke. Maybe not today, but someday. You knew that. You’ve always known that. I want to build a life together. To live together.”
“I’ll do it,” he blurted out. “I’ll move in with you. Will that help? Will that prove how committed I am?”
I shook my head with disbelief. Could he truly mean it? “I don’t want to force you…”
“You aren’t. I swear you aren’t. I’ve been holding back for so long because I knew you’d expect me to marry you. I never wanted to have this conversation, but I should’ve so long ago… Let’s move in together.”
I batted back tears of a new kind, my heart swelling with hope. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. I didn’t fight back, the food and fight forgotten as he scooped me up, pressing me against the wall in a tender kiss.
I ran my hands through his hair, my tears landing on his cheeks. “I love you, Lucas Martin.”
“I love you, too, Clara. More than you’ll ever know.”
His heart thudded against mine as he kissed me again, then he pulled away. His eyes were lost and cold, a stunning contradiction to his words.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, staring at him as he lowered me to the ground.
He nodded, forcing a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “Everything’s perfect.” He swallowed, unable to meet my gaze as he ran a finger over his lips, a telltale sign he was lying about something, as he wiped away my kiss.
He kept hold of my hand with his opposite hand, though he seemed to have forgotten he had it.
He was lying to me. About something, maybe about everything. Either way, I had to learn the truth.
His phone rang, interrupting my thoughts, and he pulled it from his pocket. I noticed the name, or rather letter on the screen, though he tried to hide it from me. A.
Who is A?
“Hello?” He answered the phone, walking away from me, though I kept up with him, pretending to be oblivious to his sudden need for privacy. “What are you talking about? I didn’t—” He spun back around, noticing my presence. “Hold on. Hold on, okay? I’ll be there in a half hour.” He nodded, then hung up the phone and stared at me.
“What was that about?”
“It was the hospital. I got called in for a surgery. Can I take a rain check?”
I swallowed. “Who’s A?”
He shook his head. “What?”
“On your phone, it showed A.”
“H,” he corrected, “for the hospital. I’ve got to go.” He was lying. I knew what I’d seen…didn’t I?
“Will you come back after? I can save you some food.”
“I’ll just crash there,” he said dismissively as he made his way toward the door and stopped to slip on his shoes. “It’ll be a late one. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He kissed my lips, brushing my hair from my eyes as he darted away. To my surprise, he looked the most relieved he’d looked all night, to be leaving me.
Again, he was lying, and it was obvious there was so much I didn’t know.
Of course, the most pressing question continued to repeat in my head: Who is A?
Chapter Eighteen
Alaina
I could hear him panting through the phone as he rushed out the door. I wasn’t sure if he was at work or at home, but he made no effort to stall. When I called, he came running. I heard his car door shut before he spoke again, his voice slightly muffled by the engine starting.
“Now,” he said, his voice going quiet for a moment as the car switched to Bluetooth, “what are you talking about? What painting?”
“The painting I sent you the other night. Don’t act like you didn’t get it.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Alaina. You had a painting sent to my house?” His voice was strained, and I could tell he was stressed. What was he so worried about? How would I have sent anything to his apartment when I didn’t have the address?
“No. I texted you a picture of my latest painting, Lucas. You said you wanted one like the one I’d painted of you, only of me…” I trailed off. Had I sent it to the wrong number? It wasn’t possible, but I put my phone on speaker and checked just to be safe. “I have it right here. It shows it was delivered.”
“When did you send it?”
“Last night. It was late.”
He sighed. “I never got any messages from you last night. Was there any text with it?”
“No…just the picture. I thought it spoke for itself.”
He seemed a bit calmer when he spoke again. �
��You should be careful sending messages like that. When I’m at work, interns often check my phone and read me the messages aloud.”
“I know that. You’ve told me I can’t send anything too risqué, but this was just art for all anyone knows.”
He grumbled. “Well, when do I get to see this art, then?”
“Come over and you can see it right now,” I teased, relieved to hear his stress disappearing.
He laughed under his breath, and I could swear I heard his engine revving. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Like he’d promised, within twenty minutes, he was coming in the front door. I stood from the couch as soon as I saw him, his gaze raking over me, though I was a sheer disappointment in my yoga pants and baggy T-shirt with no makeup. The baby had my morning sickness acting up, and it was all I could do to get dressed at all—though Lucas may have preferred I didn’t. He walked toward me, scooping me in his arms and pressing his lips to mine.
He tasted of garlic, and I pulled away. “Did I interrupt dinner?”
“Yeah, I’d just gotten home, sorry. Can you smell it on me?” He covered his mouth, his cheeks flaming red.
“My nose is extra sensitive these days. It’s not bad…just a bit garlicy.”
He smiled, but didn’t offer to brush his teeth. We were still pressed together, though there was starting to be a small bump between us. “So, where’s this painting?”
I took his hand, pulling away from him and sucking in garlic-free air. Together, we walked down the hallway and into the bedroom. I pulled the cover from the canvas and stepped back, watching as he took it in. His face was pink for an entirely different reason then, and he moved forward, his fingers tracing the lines of my body with precision. “This is beautiful, Lainie.” I smiled softly, watching his hand move across the canvas, taking extra time around my more sensitive areas. “I definitely would’ve let you know if I received this.” When he turned back to me, his brow raised. “Do you think you sent it to the wrong number?”
I pulled out my phone. “I’m positive I didn’t. Look.”
He took the phone in his hand, staring at the photo and then up at the top where his number was. He shook his head, pulling out his own phone and scrolling through his texts. When I moved around to see his screen, he shoved it in his pocket. “I must’ve had bad service or something and it never came through. I worked late last night.”
I wasn’t quite buying the excuse, though I had no true idea where he might’ve been or why he’d lie. Instead of arguing further, I grabbed hold of his collar and pulled him toward me. “Well, now that you’re here in person, perhaps you’d like to inspect the subject up close.”
He gave a crooked grin, stepping closer. When he pressed himself against me this time, I could feel his excitement against my leg. He pulled his shirt over his head, then mine, staring down at my naked form.
“Yes, you seem to have gotten a few things right,” he told me, his hands moving to my hips as he removed my pants then shot back up to cradle my head in a kiss.
I reached for his pants, our lips still locked together as I unbuckled his belt and shimmied the pants to the floor. He eased us onto the bed, our naked forms intertwined, my heart thudding in my chest. I couldn’t explain the way he made me feel—like I could explode from sheer joy. I loved him more than I could describe. He filled me with warmth and hope and desire like I had never known before.
He sucked in a breath and the smell of garlic hit me again. This time, I had to jerk away. “I’m sorry.” I put a hand over my mouth and sat up. He lay beside me, seeming confused. “It’s the garlic. Would you mind rinsing your mouth? My morning sickness has gotten bad lately.”
“Sure,” he said, somewhat hesitantly. He stood from the bed and sauntered away. I could tell I’d upset him, but I couldn’t put myself through that torture. I stared down at the floor, trying to regain my composure as I heard him sifting through drawers, looking for the mouthwash.
When the nausea had passed and I heard the water running, I realized I was staring at his pants, the lump of his phone evident in his pocket. Acting quickly, I reached down and pulled the phone out. Though he didn’t know it, I’d seen him type his phone’s password in before, yet I’d never once snooped. It was his birthday, and I typed it in quickly, going straight to his messages. He was right, there was no message from me, as there was no message thread at all from me. I went to his contacts—did he even have my number saved?—and typed in my number, surprised to see my name pop up as only an initial: A.
I furrowed my brow as I heard the water shut off and he began to gargle with the mouthwash. I didn’t have much time. I closed out of the contacts and went back to the green message icon, scrolling down through his recent conversations hurriedly.
Naomi:
Where are you?
At work. Need something?
No, I’ll take care of it.
Ethan:
Thanks for covering this morning. I’ve got you next time.
No problem. Everything went fine. Patient’s recovering.
Good.
C:
Are you still at work?
Yes. You here?
Yes. I’ll find you.
M:
Are you coming over?
Be there later tonight.
K.
Except for very recent conversations, his message history was blank. Who were these people? Who was Naomi? Why were so many of us saved in his phone under initials? C? M? A? What was he hiding? I heard him spit and hurriedly placed his phone back in his pocket. As he reentered the room, I tried my best to put on a warm smile and pretend my head wasn’t spinning. Was Lucas cheating on me?
He couldn’t be…could he?
He walked toward me, lowering his face just inches from mine. “Better?” he asked.
His breath was, but now I felt like I could be sick for an entirely different reason. I nodded, barely able to look at him, but he didn’t seem to care as he met my eyes once, then stood and reached for my head, pushing the top of it down until I was staring directly at his erect form. He pulled my mouth toward him without warning, and I opened on instinct. His head went back from up above me as I wrapped my lips around him, my mind elsewhere completely. I had to think of something, anything.
He groaned, both hands on the sides of my head now as he moved me with increasing rhythm. I’d had a friend once who installed a tracking app on her boyfriend’s phone when she believed he was cheating. If I could get my hands on Lucas’ phone again, I could do the same. To do that, though, I’d have to convince him to stay the night and fall asleep long enough for me to get it.
I looked up at him, his face filled with desire as he bit his lip. I placed both of my hands at his base, swallowing my vomit in my throat and pretending to enjoy it as much as he was.
He wouldn’t be the only one lying this time.
When we were done, we fell back on my bed together, our bodies slick with sweat. Lucas was tired, already yawning as his head hit the pillow.
“I should probably head home,” he whispered, one eye closed. His hand gripped my breast possessively.
I threw a leg over him. “I wish you’d stay.”
He gave a lopsided grin. “Then your wish is my command.” I ran a hand through his hair, playing with it gently as he began to doze off. I’d always believed his face was especially handsome in the moonlight, moody and dark, all sharp angles and shadows. His grip on my breast loosened within minutes, and I heard his breathing begin to slow. I continued to rub his head, feeling his warm breath against my face, and I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
I wanted to be sure he was good and asleep before I dared move. There was no risk of me falling asleep as my mind raced. When an hour had passed without him moving, I slid his arm off my body and waited to see if he’d move. When he still didn’t, I eased myself away from him, off the side of the bed, and then onto the floor. I crawled across my floor, the hardwood pa
inful on my knees. When I made it to his pants, still on the floor where we’d left them, I pulled his phone free, turning down the brightness before I did anything else. I unlocked the phone and clicked on the app store button, searching for tracking apps. I couldn’t remember the app my friend had used, but the first result seemed like it would work. I downloaded the app, watching as the purple icon appeared on his screen, and created an account for him. Then, I hid the app in a junk folder with a few of his other useless apps. I placed it somewhere in the middle of the apps, sure he’d never notice it there. Lastly, I sent myself a text message invite to join his circle, closed out of the app and locked his phone back, sliding it back into his pocket.
I stood, tiptoeing across the room and lifting my phone from the nightstand. I followed the same steps, downloading the app, and confirmed that I’d like to be in his circle. When I stared down at the final screen, we were two small circles, side by side at my address.
Next time I sent a picture, I’d know exactly where he was.
Next time he lied, I’d know the truth.
Chapter Nineteen
Naomi
Lucas arrived home an hour before our scheduled Sunday dinner with my parents. He hurried in the door, threw a hand over his head in a brief wave, and called out, “Sorry, I know I’m late. Surgery ran long. Be right back.”
He rushed up the stairs, and I listened as his footsteps grew fainter. I turned to face Becca, waiting patiently at the table, and patted her seat. “Go ahead and get in your seat, sweet girl. I’ve got your plate ready. Grandma and Grandpa will be here soon.”
She climbed up in the chair and I pushed it in and moved her plate toward her just as my phone chimed from across the room. I hurried over to where I’d laid it near the stove, lifting it and turning back to face Becca so I could keep an eye on her as she took a bite of her spanakopita.
The text was from my father.
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