Page 21 of These White Lies

Brady’s barking orders at someone. He sounds mad, but I can’t make out the words.

I try to tell him it’s okay. I’m fine.

But, the darkness is quicker.

6

ELIZABETH

4 Years ago

I don’t wantto be here.

The thought circles my mind as the sleek town car turns off the main road and onto the long, private drive leading to Carrow’s mansion. Atlanta’s wealthiest have carved what used to be quiet horse country into sprawling estates. They crave the privacy and large properties, but still want proximity to a major city.

Carrow’s house comes into view like a giant, white eyesore in the natural setting. It is modern, and obviously designed as a statement rather than for taste. White stone, clean lines, and manicured lawns seem to roll on forever. But it’s the garish jet-black accents that appear so jarring against the verdant pine forest bordering the property.

However, by far, the most unsettling thing in sight is the many, openly-armed guards.

They seem to be everywhere I look. Some stand just inside the tree line, a few are stationed along the long drive, andanother handful in dark suits with earpieces stand in the motor court.

What the fuck, Natalya?

Not for the first time, a knot of worry pulls low in my stomach about my client’s relationship.

The supermodel might be very young, but she’s no fool. Natalya Sokolov has spent the better part of her life modelling around the world, fending off plenty of men wanting to take advantage of her. Normally, I’d never doubt her ability to handle herself, but there is something different about her relationship with Jonathan Carrow.

After the last few years and my divorce, I know I’m mistrustful of men—can you blame me? However, her new fiancé gives me the chills.

He behaved perfectly the one time I met him in my office. Natalya had come in to sign an extension to a contract. Her agent and publicist usually attended these meetings with her, but they were noticeably absent this time.

Carrow barely spoke to me during our meeting, and never interfered with our conversation about the contracts. At first, I couldn’t figure out why he put me on edge. Did he not trust me? Was he just looking to be involved in Natalya’s career? But then it hit me.

His interest wasn’t in the paperwork or Natalya’s career.

He was there to watch Natalya.

She delivered every answer and every polite smile with a tiny flick of her eyes in his direction, a silent check-in for approval.

The encounter had made my skin crawl.

The car pulls to a stop by the front steps of the house. It’s too late to tell the driver to take me home.

I smooth my hands down the front of my black cocktail dress and remind myself that I’m here for Natalya. She stood by me,remaining a client after so many dropped me when Keith and I split the firm.

Two men flank the door, each holding a polished wooden box. The man on the left opens his without a smile, revealing a tangle of masks. Some are satin in bright jewel tones decorated with feathers and filigree, while others are simpler leather and lace.

I blink, genuinely confused.

Carrow has obviously seen one too many Bond films, and by the look of his ‘helpers,’ he clearly identifies with the villains.

Fantastic.

I vaguely remember Natalya mentioning something about masks when she extended the invitation. “Bring your best mask,” she’d told me with a half-laugh. I hadn’t realized she’d meant it literally.

I raise an eyebrow, trying for casual. “This isn’t anEyes Wide Shutkind of situation, is it?” I joke, even though my internal red flags are waving.

The men stare blankly back at me.