Page 85 of When Lies Unfold

I study him for a beat before confessing in a whisper-hiss, “There’s a good chance I’ll embarrass you because I’m not used to attending dinners or things like…this.”

It’s the truth. I haven’t attended dinners of this caliber in years now. Back then, I always came away with painful physical punishment because I never said or did the right thing.

His brow furrows. “How you think you’re gonna embarrass me?”

I scramble for a believable response that has truth threaded in it. “Because I’m just a cleaner. I don’t do anything fancy”—I tip my head in the direction of the room—“like this.”

He stays quiet, as though digesting my words, while his dark eyes remain locked on me. Then his voice lowers to something fierce and formidable.

“Listen to me. Those people in there”—he tips his head in a discreet gesture—“regard you exactly how your body language tells ’em to. You go in there believin’ you’re just a cleaner and beneath ’em, and they’re gonna look at you like that.”

He lets his words linger between us. “But you’re not just a cleaner. Never been just anythin’. You’re Lola-fuckin’-Arias. Beautiful. Brave. Smart as hell.” Releasing one of my hands, he tucks my hair behind my ear. “That’s what you are, and that’s what you’re gonna show ’em when you walk in there.”

My throat threatens to swell shut while my eyes widen with shock. He’s under no obligation to lie to boost my ego. I’m nothing to him but a liability, as he’s reminded me time and again.

But in this moment, he’s offering me a gift. Perhaps it’s some sort of peace offering. I don’t know what he’s up to, and although he appears genuine, I know better than to think he doesn’t have ulterior motives.

He’s on one side—a criminal, a known killer—and I’m on the other. I don’t break the law. I live a quiet life. And I certainly don’t make a habit of killing people.

But right now, I’ll allow his kind, empowering words to soothe that old, wounded part of me that’s remained raw and overexposed for years.

“You with me?” His husky voice possesses more than a trace of concern.

When I give a curt nod, relief edges into his features. The hand holding mine gives a little, barely there squeeze, and a split second later, we enter the dining area.

Conversation draws to a halt, and I use all my concentration to put one foot in front of the other. Santiago guides me toward the head of the table, where two elegant place settings await us. He pulls out my chair and claims his place after I’m seated.

His commanding air is palpable as he tugs his cloth napkin from his place setting and drapes it over his lap. My fingers feel clumsy when I do the same, but thankfully, I succeed without knocking anything over.

Addressing the guests with a dip of his chin, he says, “Appreciate your attendance. Gonna eat first, then talk business. Like usual.”

My riotous nerves have me avoiding casting glances at the other guests. Evidently, I’m not spared from awkwardness, because the bottom of my stomach drops out when a female voice pipes up with, “Who’s your guest, Santy?”

I should’ve known better when she showed up in Alma’s room dressed as she was. My eyes dart to the end of the table where Keyna’s seated. A cursory glance tells me she’s the only other woman here, and I can’t help but wonder if Santiago invited her.

The thought sends irrational jealousy pulsing through me which I dutifully ignore.

“This is Miss Arias.” Santiago leans back in his chair, arms propped on the armrests. “Lola Arias.”

Keyna’s gaze narrows on me, and I brace myself for her response. “Isn’t she Alma’s nanny?” Pure distaste drips from the last word, and my spine turns to steel.

Without thinking first, my mouth fires off. “Yes. And we all know you’re his fuck buddy. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, can we eat? I’m starving.”

I brace for Santiago’s wrath, knowing I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but his unexpected chuckle has me braving a glance his way.

A hint of pride colors his features as he regards me with that scrutinizing gaze. Without breaking eye contact, he announces, “I agree with what you said, except for one thing.”

When he continues with, “Keyna’s no longer my fuck buddy,” the room is blanketed with a dangerous undercurrent. The meaning and blatant possessiveness in his statement are crystal clear.

When I cast a brief look at the other male guests, their expressions range from shock to amusement to…an imposing sort of inspection.

The latter comes from a man whose attention is riveted on me, unease causing my body to turn to stone.

Santiago lifts his hand in a signal for the waitstaff hovering nearby. “Let’s enjoy what Javier prepared for us tonight.”

A large fraction of the tense atmosphere subsides while murmurs and hums of approval sound when plates filled with food are placed in front of everyone. Some waitstaff fill water glasses while others fill wineglasses.

Once they retreat, Santiago lifts his wineglass in a toast and murmurs, “Buen provecho?1.” Everyone echoes the sentiment before beginning to eat.

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