Page 9 of Charming Deception

Maybe white knights really do exist.

I stand at the foot of the driveway, gazing up at the black iron gate, closed, with the imposing stone pillars on either side. The one closest to me has a security pad with an intercom on it, and I press the button to ring the house.

All with that man in my head.

The handsome stranger whose help I refused in the street.

My god. Do they really make men like that?

Not in my hometown.

A face like that, with a body like that, in a suit like that?

Triple threat.

He was so well-dressed, with the shiny shoes and the designer watch, to say nothing of the bespoke suit that clung to his tall, masculine frame. His expensive haircut was obvious even with his light-brown waves beautifully askew in the breeze. His car was a shiny black SUV, like the kind celebrities roll up to red carpets in. And clearly, he’d stopped for one reason.

Because I looked like a damsel in distress.

He’d towered over me like some gorgeous, manly angel, and I was so out of sorts with my situation, I’d barely found the words to communicate with him.

As I watched him walk away, I’d felt a vicious stab of regret.

What if he was an actual gentleman, just being courteous, and I wouldn’t accept his help because of all the baggage I’d brought with me—the invisible kind?

I press the back of my hand to my forehead, wiping away the sticky sweat and the hair that’s sticking to me. It’s humid here on the West Coast, but in a different way than it is in the prairies. Much fresher. Lighter. The evening air seems to kiss my skin.

It might be pleasant if I didn’t feel so gross from living in this dress while riding on public buses for two days straight.

Finally, a woman’s voice greets me through the intercom. When I tell her my name, she asks me to wait.

I wonder what’s taking so long. Cole promised me he’d be here when I arrived.

Beneath the security camera, the address is on a plaque. I check my map app; this is definitely it. The address my brother gave me.

I also wonder if the woman on the intercom can see me through that camera. I glance down, and cringe at the sight of my sad suitcase.

I can’t believe my life just exploded at my feet like that.

The cheap zipper burst as I rolled it over the curb, and just as my clothes were hitting the pavement, I heard the car pulling up.

So embarrassing.

Yet so weirdly appropriate, I almost had to laugh. It was a perfect snapshot of the state of my life right now; packed up and dragged to the big city, yet the whole plan is flimsy at best.

No matter how much my friends keep telling me I’m so strong to do this, so courageous, and that I’m doing the right thing—the hard thing—I feel weirdly powerless.

I don’t feel brave.

I just feel kind of numb. And tired and sweaty.

The iron gate in front of me makes a clicking noise and finally drifts open. I hoist my backpack a little higher onto my back and grip the handle of my suitcase as my heart starts to thud. I already feel so out of place in this ritzy neighborhood, but I hardly expected otherwise. Certain parts of my brother’s world always make me nervous.

This part. The successful, wealthy part.

Though I seriously didn’t know Cole was this wealthy.

I make my way through the gate and start up the curved drive. It’s lined on both sides with flowering trees and shrubs that keep the house hidden from the street. I glimpse a man in black, standing beneath a tree, wearing an earpiece and a scowl. And black sunglasses, through which he’s watching me.

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