Page 55

But he does.
“Is everything all right, Miss Lively?” he asks softly.
No, because every time I think about how much I want to get married some day and how I really do want children, my throat aches more. And I wish I could have both with a man who can make me feel like Cage does, even with as warped as our relationship sometimes seems.
I wave my hand in front of my face and smile brilliantly at Igor. “I’m fine, Mr. Vasiliev, thank you. The vodka is wonderful but—”
“It takes practice to ensure that it goes down easily. I understand.”
Before I burst into tears, I grab my handbag and leave the table, excusing myself in a wobbly voice.
I rush away, and I’m just entering the restroom hallway, fumbling in my handbag for a tissue, as Cage catches up to me.
We’re alone in the dimness as he tenderly cups my face in his hands. The fact that he’s still putting on a show makes me even sadder.
“What’s wrong?” he asks gently.
“Nothing.”
With my free hand, I wrap my fingers around his wrist and guide him away from my face. No use in pretending now.
He keeps a hold of my hand, and his skin burns into mine.
“Don’t tell me that,” he says. “Clearly something’s—”
“I can’t do this anymore!”
He pauses, looking at me as if I’m speaking another language. Then he laughs. “Nonsense. Do you know how close we are to success? You have Igor eating out of the palm of your hand!”
His cluelessness kills me.
“Maybe,” I say, “I don’t want everything you’re saying to be a lie, Cage.”
A slow freeze comes over him. He still holds my hand, but it’s as if he doesn’t feel a thing.
His voice is hard. “You knew the deal, Karini. Everything was always up front. I’ve been honest with you.”
Screw pretending about anything now. “Well then it’s too damned bad that my feelings have changed, isn’t it?”
Under his tanned skin, he goes pale. For the first time since I met him, I sense fear in him—is it fear that he might’ve badly wounded me? I think there’s guilt there, too, as if he knows that he can never give me the kind of life and love I truly want and deserve.
But why? Why the hell can’t he?
When all those terrible emotions remain in his gaze, I know I’m right.
His silence shatters me, and I yank my hand away from him on a sob.
“Karini—”
“I need to go in the restroom to get myself together, and don’t you dare follow me—”
In my rush to get away from him, I drop my handbag. It clatters to the floor, everything spilling out of the opening. My lipstick, powder, tissues, and phone are splayed out for anyone to see and…
Dear god, my phone has been jarred to life, and it’s landed screen side up, exposing the last text that was sent to me.
YOU PROMISED ME MORE MONEY BITCH.
And there, right below it, is a picture of me, naked, touching myself and staring at the camera.