Page 32 of Entwined Lies (Entwined #1)

Isabelle

I glanced at the clock, the tightness in my chest growing sharper with every tick.

Three weeks since Reid had come up with this idea, and somehow, the time had disappeared in a blur.

Now, the afternoon loomed, uninvited and inevitable, dragging the charity gala with it like a punishment I hadn’t earned.

But time wasn’t slowing down, and neither could I.

“You sure?” Luca asked, one shoulder propped against the doorframe, tone smooth. Too smooth. He was trying to sound indifferent and failing.

“It won’t take more than a few minutes at Grand Harbor Plaza.” I flicked my hair back. “The dress I picked out doesn’t feel quite right. There’s one I saw that might be better.”

Luca hesitated, the wrinkle between his brows deepening as though I’d just announced a plan to hijack the evening. Clearly, the fact that I was dragging a fashion emergency into an already spiraling day didn’t thrill him.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Just make it quick. Enzo will take you.”

I nodded, swallowed hard, and forced the rest down—the nerves, the panic, all of it. He didn’t need to know I was three seconds from spiraling.

When I stepped outside, Enzo was there. Silent. Stiff. Leaning on the car like he’d rather be anywhere else .

Same, honestly.

“Let’s get it over with,” I muttered, stepping past him as he held the door, quiet and composed like always.

The engine hummed as the car moved through traffic. I kept my face turned toward the glass, eyes tracking nothing, just trying to keep still.

“You sure about the Plaza? We’re cutting it close on time.”

“Relax, Enzo,” I forced a smile, waving off the rising tension like it was a pesky fly. “I’ll be quick. In and out. You’ll barely miss me.”

Unease crept into his expression, subtle but there. Still, he didn’t fight me on it. Enzo never argued. He just… settled into that eerie calm—one that suggested patience only because murder takes time.

When we pulled up to the plaza, he parked close to the entrance, as if even parking had its strategic advantages.

I stepped out, smoothing my dress as if I were suiting up for battle. Which, in a way, I was.

“It’ll be five minutes tops,” I said sweetly. “Feel free to enjoy the view. Concrete and silence—it’s a vibe.”

“No point in staying in the car. I’ll come with you.”

I forced another smile to mask the irritation bubbling under the surface. Because clearly, I can’t be trusted to pick out a dress without a bodyguard shadowing me like a helicopter parent.

“Of course,” I muttered, mostly to myself, as I turned toward the entrance. My jaw clenched. My fingers curled. And my bag got one hell of an adjustment.

This was supposed to be simple: get in, grab what I need, and get out without any drama. But now I had Enzo playing the overprotective watchdog, and it was pissing me off more than I’d ever let him see.

The cool air when we walked into the mall barely registered, even though it should’ve felt good. Everyone else walked like they were on vacation. Me? I kept moving like someone had wound me too tight .

I caught sight of the boutique. And her. The saleswoman. Hair pulled back tight, posture perfect, calm as ever. The kind of woman who didn’t let anything touch her. I envied it. I resented it. Maybe both.

“Good afternoon.” She glanced at Enzo, then back at me. “Shopping for anything in particular today?”

“Yes,” I cleared my throat. “Actually, I’m attending an event tonight. I need something that makes a statement. Any suggestions?”

“Right this way,” she said with a knowing smile, guiding me toward a curated section. “This piece might be exactly what you’re after.”

Enzo hovered near the entrance like a well-dressed shadow, his eyes scanning the store.

Good. At least he wasn’t breathing down my neck.

I trailed after her, bag tucked close to my body.

She stopped by a nearly bare rack. Only one dress hung there—an emerald gown, the fabric catching the light just enough. Beads traced the bodice like whispers. The skirt flowed straight and clean.

“This is the one. Want to try it on?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

I followed her.

The fitting room door clicked shut behind us, muffling the hum of the boutique outside. It smelled faintly of jasmine and money. Clean. Controlled.

The saleswoman didn’t say much. Just moved around me with the kind of ease that came from helping women into dresses meant for moments they couldn’t take back. Her hands were quick and cool, lifting fabric, zipping closures, smoothing seams—like she wasn’t dressing a person at all. Just a decision.

As she adjusted the last strap, her voice was barely a whisper. “Everything is in place. You’ll have nothing to worry about. ”

Honey, I’ve been worrying since I rolled out of bed this morning, I thought, but forced myself to stay composed.

I glanced at the mirror.

The dress was perfect—subtle, sophisticated. The kind that made you look powerful, even when you were anything but.

“For convenience, there’s a pocket between the layers.” Her fingers traced a spot near my thigh. “Hardly noticeable but useful for carrying small essentials.”

“Thanks,” I said, flipping the fabric to check it before slipping out of the dress.

She folded it neatly into a sleek black garment bag and left without another word.

I stepped out of the fitting room, my gaze flicking toward the entrance. Enzo hadn’t budged, still standing there, his expression as unreadable as ever.

“Enjoy your event,” the woman said, her smile as plastic as her tone.

“Oh, I will,” I forced more cheer into my voice than I felt, playing the part of the perfect customer.

Enzo closed the distance between us and reached for the bag, draping it over his arm as he fell into step beside me.

If anyone could pull off a breakdown in a designer dress, it’d be me.

? ? ?

We stopped in the driveway, and I kept my eyes on the garden—because the alternative was looking at myself, staring back from the glass like some haunted idiot with a plan.

Everything was already in motion. I just had to hold on and hope like hell it didn’t explode in my face .

Luca moved around the car, calm and composed as he opened the door for me. The tux was criminal on him—sleek black, clean lines, everything fitting too perfectly. The black tie, the cuffs, the glint of his cufflinks… it was all too much.

And then he smiled. Not fully. Just enough for the dimples to flash. That was the real problem. That was the part that made my breath catch.

I swallowed. Tried to breathe normally. Then held out my hand to him and prayed my fingers wouldn’t shake.

His eyes moved over me slowly, face unreadable, and he took it.

“You look breathtaking.”

The words hit low, deeper than I was ready for. His eyes held that same heat, sure—but something else, too. Something that made my whole chest go tight. I felt both safe and completely exposed, all at once.

“Thanks. You—yeah. You look good,” I managed, barely keeping my voice even as our eyes met.

My fingers curled into the fabric of my dress.

Luca’s hand slid to the small of my back, light but possessive. It shouldn’t have made my pulse jump—but it did.

The mansion rose ahead like something out of a high-end magazine shoot—too perfect, too untouched.

White stone walls shimmered under the lights, arched windows reflecting the evening back at me.

The balconies were wrought iron, the greenery manicured as if it had never dared grow wild.

Lanterns flickered as though performing on cue.

It was stunning. It was suffocating.

I took a deep breath. Not that it helped. The nerves were already eating me alive. I knew the role, knew the script. Still, it was like stepping onto a stage with the lights too bright and the floor too slippery .

The hum of too-rich conversation hit me first—tight laughs, clinking glasses, the sound of money trying to impress itself.

Chandeliers sparkled overhead, massive things like glass sea monsters tangled in light.

A painted night sky watched us from above with fake stars and a little too much glitter.

The tables were dressed like royalty—beige linens, roses curled into perfect centerpieces, candles flickering like they knew a secret.

It felt like walking into a fairy tale… the kind that ends with someone choking on poisoned wine.

My eyes swept the room, finally landing on Senator Parker, deep in conversation with someone equally smug. His silver hair was slicked back, his sharp features oozed confidence—one I’d seen on every politician who thought they could get away with murder. Literally, or otherwise.

“Champagne?” Nina’s voice sliced through my thoughts, a welcome interruption. She played the part seamlessly, blending in with the staff, the tray in her hand perfectly steady.

I accepted a glass with a nod.

Luca did the same. He took a sip beside me, eyes locked on Parker like a predator clocking distance.

At the far end of the room, the senator stood, surrounded by his little circle, charming them.

When he saw Luca, his face shifted—barely a second. Just enough to show he recognized him. Just enough to reveal it wasn’t a welcome memory. Then the politician kicked in. He smiled, smooth and rehearsed, and walked straight for us.

“An old friend,” Parker said, extending his hand. Voice friendly enough, but not relaxed.

“Senator.” Luca shook his hand, every inch of him calm. Too calm. That perfect mix of charm and threat, subtle enough to pass for manners .

Parker looked at me next. His smile stretched wider.

“And who is your lovely companion?”

The question landed like a slap in silk gloves. He knew exactly who I was. My face had been on every damn outlet for weeks. News, blogs, courtroom clips. There wasn’t a chance in hell he didn’t recognize me. Parker didn’t do uninformed. He did deliberate.

This wasn’t curiosity. It was a strategy. A power play. And we both knew it.

“Isabelle, my wife.”

The word sent a quiet thrill through me, buried beneath the carefully neutral expression I wore. Wife. God, that sounded… strange. Gorgeous, but strange.

It was just part of the act, part of the story we were selling—but the way Luca said it, all low and certain, threaded with that rough possessiveness… it landed too deep. Too real.

Parker’s smile deepened just slightly, like he smelled blood in the water.

“Congratulations, Luca, never thought I’d see the day you settled down,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “She must be an extraordinary woman—and very forgiving.” He winked. Of course, he did.

“Thank you.”

Luca’s words stayed polite, even calm, but his body gave him away. His fingers curled tighter around the champagne flute, white-knuckled and still.

For a second, I honestly thought it might break in his hand—glass and control, both shattered in an instant.

If the senator had known what was really going on behind Luca’s stillness, he’d have been running.

Parker kept grinning, but there was a flicker, quick and thin. He’d felt it. That line he might’ve just crossed .

“Luca, let’s catch up sometime. I have a feeling we’ve got more in common than we used to,” he said with a smile so controlled it barely counted.

“Of course,” Luca replied, smooth as ever.

Parker gave one last plastic smile before turning to mingle—his departure more like a retreat.

Luca leaned in, his breath warm against my ear—but his voice? Ice. “I’ll rip his fucking throat out for this. He’s lucky I have to wait.”

I didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. His voice was so calm that it made my blood run cold.

Luca didn’t just speak in threats. He acted on them. And as much as his protectiveness made me feel safe, it also reminded me that the same force could one day be aimed in my direction. And I didn’t want to find out what that would look like.