Page 40 of The Temptation of Truth

“Kat?” I open my eyes and fix them on her face, but her smudged lipstick makes me wince, so I look away again. “Kat Hughes? Your girlfriend is Kat Hughes?”

As I say the name, my mind sharpens the blurry parts of the memory. Slender and lithe. Sharp angles and elegance. My shoulders fall. Of course. She’s a supermodel. Mabel’s dating a supermodel, and for some reason, I find this news even more wrenching than the scene of them making out. I reach for the pendant of my necklace and rub the worn metal disc with my thumb. I can’t remember the last time I was this uncomfortable.

“Yeah. And like I said before, it’s important that it doesn’t make it to the press.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone, Mabel.” I make eye contact and hold it, careful not to look at the way her lipstick is smudged over her full lips. “I promise. It’s not my secret to share.”

Mabel’s eyes bounce between mine, searching for the truth in my words. When she finds what she’s looking for, she nods.

“Look, I’m really sorry. I know we had plans, but I wasn’t expecting Kat to show up. It was a surprise, so?—”

“It’s fine. I understand.”

“Rain check?”

“Yeah, sure.”

She nods once, her expression tight, and I can tell she feels bad. She shouldn’t, though. That’s her girlfriend. Of course she should cancel on me. Of course she should be with her. I know this. Iknow, but I can’t fend off the disappointment.

Then she gives me a fake smile and nods in the direction of the dressing room. “Do you want to come back? I can introduce you. Kat’s nice when she’s not screamingget the fuck out. I promise.”

I choke out a laugh. Her suggestion sounds about as appealing as cuddling with a cactus.

“I’m actually going to go back to the hotel. I’m not feeling well.”

Her jaw ticks. “Is that the truth?”

I glance away. I don’t answer her, but I don’t walk back on my statement, either. Mabel sighs.

“Okay. I really am sorry, Aurora.”

“Yeah, I know. You wouldn’t say it if you weren’t.”

I wish I could read whatever emotion passes over her face. She pauses as if she’s considering saying something else, but then she changes her mind. She gives me another small, fake smile and shrugs.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

I jerk out one more nod, return her tight, forced smile, then head back the way I came. I keep my eyes fixed on the ground in front of me, despite the pull to stare at the closed door of the dressing room suite as I pass by.

I try to keep my cool the whole way back to the hotel, but the images keep circling. The gasps. The laughter. The smudged lipstick. The scent. I press my thighs together as my head swims. I don’t know what I’m feeling. Jealousy? Anger? Disappointment?

Something else?

I close my eyes and shake my head, trying to clear the thoughts from my mind, but they don’t budge. They just circle faster.

“Are you all right, Ms. Sinclair?”

“Yes. Just a headache.”

My voice comes out weak, and he turns to look at me. “Do you need a medic?”

“No. No. Just sleep, thank you.”

We make the rest of the drive in silence, and by the time I get to my room, my entire body is flushed and hot. I lock the door and pace the room, running my fingers through my hair.

“Stop it. Stop it.”