Page 17 of House of Lies

“I’m sorry, Wildfire,” I repeat. “I don’t know how to prove to you that I’m telling the truth.”

“Thank you. It’s the first time you’ve ever stood up for me.”

“Because I’ve been a dumb fuck so far.”

She smiles and she's not running away, which I take as a good sign. She’s wearing a black dress at a wedding, and her statement is loud and clear for everyone, including myself.

She’s stunning.

She’s a danger to my plans.

CHAPTER 11

Caelia

This has become a routine. We shower at different ends of the house, change for bed, and meet in this shared space that doesn’t belong to either of us. Sometimes, I read, and he works on his laptop. We say good night. We sleep with our backs turned to each other. It’s a lonely place.

We watch a movie, but my mind has been drifting since the beginning, and I can’t even recall what we’re watching. My husband would be beautiful if he weren’t so cold and heartless. His stormy eyes are mesmerizing when they’re not filled with hatred. He could be on the cover of a fashion magazine. Lately, he has been sleeping shirtless as if attempting to change something. I’ve stared so much at his V-cut abs and tattoos when he wasn’t watching that I can paint them from memory. It’s strange to admire his body, but since we started sharing a bedroom, he has revealed more of himself to me than during our entire marriage.

I must be losing my mind. Perhaps it’s sleep deprivation. I must suppress any attraction I may feel to protect myself from further heartbreak. The worst thing that could happen to me is to start caring about him.

“Can we try again?”

I haven’t talked much over the last few days since the wedding. He turns his head lazily, his face illuminated by the TV’s glow, which makes him appear younger and less menacing.

I lean in closer to him, my heart pounding. I’ve never crossed over to his side of the bed. At least, I hope I haven’t. God knows what I might do in my sleep.

“Can we try what again?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Kissing.” I smile.

“You want to kiss me?”

“You sound surprised,” I remark.

I don’t want to kiss him after everything he’s done to me. But I’m going to stick to the plan, and I have to swallow the bile rising in my throat at the thought of what might happen next. He wanted to kiss me that day at the reception. The only other time he kissed me was on our wedding day, which I refuse to count as a kiss. It was a touch of the lips poisoned by his words.

He grabs the remote and pauses the movie, focusing all his attention on me. I still don’t know how to react when his entire focus is on me.

Perhaps I’m a masochist. I’m losing my mind. These days, I’m trapped on an endless roller-coaster ride. What would I do? has transformed into What will I do? Ultimately, I will be left questioning, What have I done? I’ve made peace with this. It’s my revenge. I’ll make Mattia see what we could have been. I won’t break his heart. I’m going to kill him.

“Why?” he asks, his voice laced with curiosity.

“You’ve never kissed me. Maybe I’m just curious about what it would be like.”

“I’ve never kissed you?”

“Excuse me for not counting our wedding kiss,” I scoff, confused by what he says sometimes.

“Right.”

He leans in, meeting me halfway. The anticipation is electric. It’s a moment suspended in time where the world slows until the impending collision. I feel the warmth of his breath against my face as he cups my cheeks in his hands, staring into my eyes. Slowly, his lips brush against mine. It’s so tender; it freaks me out. His lips are soft and gentle but not too insistent, and there is no pressure there. My body melts into his arms as his powerful embrace holds me close, my heart racing and my breath quickening. It breaks my heart that this is my first real kiss.

Mattia’s hand glides up my back as I welcome his tongue into my mouth, deepening the kiss. It feels as though it lasts for hours, leaving me dizzy. His lips trail down my neck, his tongue explores my skin, and his fingers find all the sensitive spots to dig in and make me moan. The world fades away, and I’m ashamed of my feelings. All my senses come alive; every nerve awakens; a wave of pleasure radiates to my core. I’m kissing my husband, yet it doesn’t feel like it. My husband has never been gentle, never caressed my body, never cared enough to make me moan. I can’t fathom how this can be the same man who said and did all those terrible things to me.

Eventually, we break apart, my face flushed and my lips tingling. I gaze into his eyes, and we smile at each other for the first time since we married. I won’t forget who he is, but it feels as though we’ve built a bridge between us. It’s going to burn me if I dare to cross it. I’m not stupid enough to fall for his charm.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks, almost pleading.

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