Page 132 of Beautiful Lies

I know I’m a control freak. And I don’t need a psych evaluation to tell me why. My mother did a number on my head. The day she left, I promised myself I’d never allow anyone—no matter who they were—to screw with my emotions again.

But wanting Isla… letting her in… that part was all me.

Isla’s fingers brush absently along my ribs, and my mind drifts back to her. Back to the safety of her and away from the darkness my mother reigned over the past.

Isla touches me like she’s not even aware she’s doing it.

I tighten my arm around her, just a fraction. Enough to feel her nestle closer.

She shifts slightly, her cheek brushing against my chest as she looks up at me. “You’re quiet,” she whispers, almost shyly, like she’s afraid to break our connection.

I swallow hard. “So are you, love.”

“I’m thinking,” she murmurs. “What about you?”

“I’m thinking, too.” I stare at the stars again because looking at her will give me away. “What are you thinking about?”

“You.” I’m surprised she’s being so open. “What areyouthinking about?”

“You.” I decide to be open, too. Besides, there is one important thing we need to discuss.

She gazes up at me, her fingers going still on my chest. “What were you thinking about me?”

“That I should tell you about the woman you saw me with.”

Her expression hardens, and it’s clear she’s still riled up. I shouldn’t feel triumph, but part of me wants her to feel a smidge of the envy I have about Chad.

“Yes, you should tell me about her.”

“Is that what you were thinking about?Her?” I stare at her with arched brows.

“Yes. And I hope this isn’t the part where you tell me she’s some secret lover and you have two kids or something crazy like that.” She blinks, serious as hell.

I chuckle and shift so I’m on my side, directly facing her. “Good guess. She does have two kids.”

“Oh my God. I’m right.” She pulls away, but I tug her back.

“Just about the kids. But they’re my Godchildren.”

Her breath falters, and I can almost see her mind processing that information. “God… children?”

“Yeah. The woman’s name is Camile. She’s my best friend, Paul’s, wife.”

Her lips part, and she looks genuinely surprised. “Oh, best friend?”

“Yes, my best friend. And before you ask, I’ll tell you why he couldn’t be at the wedding—or be part of it.” I take a breath. “Paul has a rare form of Huntington’s disease. We met in college, played football together, and he went on to the NFL. But a few years after he got married, the disease turned aggressive. He’s on his lasts now. He may have a few months left. If we’re lucky… a year.”

Isla goes still, and her face changes instantly. The fire, the attitude, the walls—everything drops. Her eyes gloss, and she presses her lips together like she’s trying to keep them from trembling.

“I’m so, so sorry.” Her eyes search mine, full of compassion.

“It’s okay.”

“I… feel like such an ass.”

“Don’t. I can understand why you made the assumption. I guess Camile and I looked suspicious. She only came to the wedding reception to give us a gift. I met her in the gardenbecause she wanted to avoid the press. She didn’t want to answer difficult questions about her husband.”

Isla closes her eyes briefly and sighs. “I completely misread everything.”