Page 100 of The Kiss of Deception

We reply like a well-rehearsed choir.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Her amusement floats over us as we watch her charm everyone in her way.

Our sprawling backyard has never seen so many people. But together, we’re just a boy and a girl, in our own private bubble.

Like a little girl, I’m mute and taut, overcome with the uncertainty that clutters my mind.

A surprise birthday party, just like my surprise birthday present, were good ideas on paper, where I could justify my efforts aligned with the narrative we had committed to sell. But as I stare at the boy, I can no longer lie to myself. If the way he gazes at me is any indication, not to him, either.

However, I’ve gotten a little too tangled in the illusion, and lost sight of a tiny detail. This isn’t technically my house. As much as it’s all for him, it wasn’t my right to invite all these people here.

So, I apologize, though Miles didn’t yet know the depth of my apology.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped.” I move away to stare at the party in full swing. “This house is a dream, but I know this is not my place t—”

In a blink, he’s on me again. I don’t even see his hands before they cup my cheeks roughly, stealing the end of my sentence.

“A dream is all this house is on its own. When you’re here, it’s home. Because you’re here.” In his urgency to make me listen, each word is slow, thorough. “This is your home, Zoe—always will be.”

His touch must be rougher than either of us realize, because my airways constrict, and it feels like he’s stolen all the oxygen from my lungs.

Glass shatters, causing a commotion, but it’s all muted in the distance from where it can’t reach our bubble.

“Save the intensity for when it’s just the two of you, lovebugs,” Rodri yells from somewhere. “And get a mop. Some little monster broke a glass.”

Miles doesn’t break eye-contact, taking all the time to make sure the words sear into my soul.

“Do you feel guilty for lying to the world?” I hear myself blurt out in a whisper.

“Is that who we’re lying to? The world?”

I don’t speak.

I don’t know words.

“Who are we fooling, Zoe?” His touch crawls from my cheeks to my shoulders, until my heart is under his thumb. “Are we pretending for the world or for ourselves?”

Most of the guests have left, like the worst of the heat, gone with the sun that lies low on the horizon. The mellow breeze invites us to stay outside, enjoying the last notes of a happ-y day.

My hosting duties have concluded with success and little damage. I can now enjoy my white wine without apprehension that I might trip and somersault into the pool or accidentally insult someone’s dead uncle.

It’s just family now, the moms and the kids. Upon insistence, a visibly tired Grandpa Toby retired for a nap, complaining of the burden of old age—and the granddaughter who’s keen on getting rid of the elders to start the actual party.

“How did the two of you meet, anyway? I never got the full story.”

The party has moved to the lounge-space, a fireside gathering around a stone fire pit and granite walls that stretch and surround the glimmering pool.

Miles’s massive hand curls around my bare leg to steady me on the arm of the patio chair we share, his strong legs sprawling ahead of us. The grip on my wine tightens as I scramble for an embezzlement of our first meeting.

Miles notices the spike of my anxiety, taking the burden. He doesn’t fumble for lies. “The day I moved into her building, the first thing I did was knock on her door with a cup of sugar. She pinned me with this—” He looks up at me like he knows what awaits him. “—glare.” With the pad of his thumb, he smooths the lines between my brows. “Like she was on a diet and my sugar personally offended her, and I’d been sent from hell to torture her.”

Laughter erupts around us, along with nods that confirm it’s the first encounter they’d expected from us. I don’t look away from his earnest eyes, seeing the encounter I’ve so many times replayed in my head from his perspective.

February 13th. My 24th birthday. I’d waited all day, despite what I told myself, to hear from my father. It had been just past seven; with the time difference, it was already the 14th in Europe, and all I’d received was complete radio silence.

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