Page 105 of When Lies Unfold

Gaze turning flinty, his mouth flattens. “How old are you?”

Fuck. Acid churns a searing path up my throat. “Thirty-two.”

His words may be quiet and measured, but there’s no mistaking the ominous, threatening undertone. “Arias is your real last name?”

“Close enough.”

Jaw turning to granite, tense lines bracket his mouth, but he says nothing for a moment.

I’d chosen Lola because of the meaning behind it. Lola is a nickname for Dolores, a name that carries the message that in order to experience joy in life, one must experience great sorrow.

Dark eyes pierce me so intrusively, as if to sift through the partial truths. “Not gonna tell me your real first name, huh?”

Dammit. How he managed to infer that, I’ll never know.

Placing my hand over my stomach, I will the nausea twined with the phantom ache to subside and shake my head slowly. “It’s safer that way.”

That monster already stole so much from me. I refuse to ever say his name, let alone reveal myself to someone and risk them dragging me back to that prison. To him.

“You sayin’ that for my benefit or yours?”

“Both.”

“That so?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Features stamped with a heavy dose of suspicious curiosity, his brows rise a fraction. “You don’t think I could find that out on my own?”

I don’t answer because I’ve revealed far too much already. I have enough sense to know laying down any semblance of a challenge in front of a man like Santiago Hernández is begging for trouble.

For this reason, I briefly allow pain to dampen my voice. “I know you could if you wanted. But I’d prefer to leave my past where it belongs.”

“Behind you,” he finishes for me.

“Yes.”

His unflinching gaze canvasses me from head to toe. It spawns regret for revealing what I did, and it tastes rancid on my tongue.

“Those scars aren’t the only damage you got from ’im.” His eyes drop to the hand I didn’t realize still covered my stomach.

As if I’ve been burned, I drop my hand at my side. But it’s too late. He’s far too perceptive.

With a lift of his chin, he gestures to my stomach, and my heart splinters in my chest. “That why you’re hot and cold with Alma?”

His question acts like a punch in the solar plexus. “What?”

Slowly, he lifts a shoulder. “Sometimes, you’re a hundred percent with her. But other times…” His brief pause sends a fissure of alarm racing through me. “Other times, it’s like you’re tryin’ to hold back from gettin’ too attached to her.”

I shrug, attempting to play it off. “I’m just looking out for her, because I won’t be a permanent fixture here. This is only temporary, and I wouldn’t want her to get too attached to me.”

“Hmm.” That all-too-perceptive stare threatens to burn a path straight through me while his nonchalant tone has the tiny hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. “So, it has nothin’ to do with you not bein’ able to have kids?”

Dangerously taut silence suspends between us like a rubber band stretched to the brink of snapping. The casual way he posed that question has my stomach torquing so violently, bile rises up my throat. How could he know that?

His mouth remains in a harsh, flat line, seemingly calm and composed while my breathing turns shallow, my muscles knotting in fear. Voice muted, he finally says, “That’s what I thought.”

I sputter, trying to regain even ground. “I never said?—”

---