Page 32 of The Kiss of Deception

“It does sound like a big enemy of someone who thrives under the false guise of control.” He watches me like I’m a puzzle. He’s putting me together—one piece down, hundreds to go.

But one piece is enough to start.

I shift in my seat. Suddenly, I feel bare. Like he can see through me. Worse, like he can see me.

“Knowing brings you a sense of safety because it gives you a false semblance of control. Control is an illusion, though. One that comes with crushing responsibility. With the realization that we’re never in complete control, comes fear—but also a life-changing sense of freedom.”

“Sounds terrifying,” I admit, the alcohol loosening my tongue.

“But also liberating.”

“So you’re just okay with not knowing?”

He pins me with meaningful gray eyes, and I ponder whether the wine is writing movies in my head. “I’m still learning.”

By the time we finish, my stomach aches a little from how full it is and how hard I laughed.

Conversation stalled only at the occasional interruption, as fans asked to meet Miles or for a picture. I watched his signature smile, dripping with charm and approachability, as he acceded to each request.

Each time Miles introduced me as his girlfriend, I stamped on a smile, I stamped on a smile, thankful I was not the primary target of their interest. Fame never appealed to me. I can’t imagine walking down the street, stared at and scrutinized like an attraction.

And Miles does it all with never-aching dimples.

Before we say our goodbyes to Lucas, Miles pays—I let him—and we leave with the promise we’ll be back soon.

The dark of the night has long erased the pink sunset from the sky, and it’s colder—cold enough that I shiver.

Quickly, I’m swallowed under a jacket that reaches mid-thigh, its fresh scent erasing all traces of chill. I cross my arms, clinging to its lapels, opening my mouth to thank him.

But Miles is swallowed, too—in a hug.

The girl that targeted my fake-boyfriend finally lets go, beaming like an old friend.

“Oh. Almost didn’t recognize you.” Miles confirms they know each other. I can’t tell if that brings me relief. “Did something to your hair?”

Her manicured hands shoot to the dark bob of neat curls, fluffing them.“Yeah. You like?”

“Sure.” He smiles.

The wind picks up, rendering his coat useless. Ice shards permeate my veins so I nudge my way under his arm, which snakes around me and pulls me closer still.

Miles’s gaze falls to me, the smile flickering with underlying meanings that I don’t understand.

He doesn’t look away from me as he makes introductions.

“This is Zoe, my girlfriend.”

Lucy tells me her name with a smile, though it never reaches her blue eyes that have an edge I can’t describe nor decipher under the streetlight.

“You’re a lucky girl,” she says, stuffing her fists in the pockets of her blue puffer-jacket.

“I am.” I nod, and his muscles flex around me.

Miles smiles, shakes his head like he is the lucky one.

“We have to get home. Early morning, tomorrow—you know.”

She knows? Knows what?

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