Page 92 of Pitiful Lies

“Congratulations, Miss O’Doyle, on your new promotion. But I promised my wife this dance. Excuse us,” I say, my eyes meeting John Chen’s once more before he looks away first.

I turn to walk away, placing Giselle just in front of me. I don’t let go. My hands are on her, one on her elbow, the other at the small of her back.

I have to process everything that just went down, but right now all I can think about is how she froze when I said wife.

Something inside me stirs at using the word where she’s concerned.

I never imagined I would be the type of man to get married, but as I lead us through the crowd to the dance floor, it’s all I can think about.

“Why did you say that?” she whispers.

The dance floor is crowded, but people move out of our way, creating space. I take Giselle in my arms and finally, my inner monster starts to calm.

The music continues, and I start to move with her.

“Why did I say what?” I ask, and I drag her closer.

She’s tiny. Short. But I love the way she fits inside my arms, and dancing with her is nice. More than nice.

It feels right.

“Wife. Why did you call me wife?” Giselle asks, and I don’t like the look in her celery green eyes.

She looks fragile. Like she’ll crack if I say the wrong words.

“Because he assumed it, and I don’t know that man. It’s safer if they think you are my wife,” I tell her, and it’s not a lie.

It is safer.

But it’s not the only reason.

Fuck.

I should just tell her the truth.

But old habits die hard deaths. And I’m not Chatty fucking Cathy when it comes to my feelings.

Truth is, I never felt this way about anyone. I’m not sure what it is. I mean, is it love?

I don’t know. I’ve never been in love with a woman before.

Just say it, you weak fuck, even if only to yourself.

My inner voice is a cocksucker, but I ignore him, focusing instead on my Koukla’s pretty gemlike stare.

The sparkle that’s been there all night dimmed a little at my explanation and I don’t like that.

I want her happy again. I want her glowing.

The DJ is playing something slow and romantic, and that’s fine with me because all I want right now is to feel her in my arms.

“Did I tell you how gorgeous you look tonight?” I ask.

It’s true. And it’s the right thing to say. Giselle’s smile is so bright it rivals the sunshine as she tilts her head back to look at me.

“Actually, you didn’t, and I was wondering if maybe I chose the wrong dress,” she replies, biting her lip coquettishly.

“Nothing wrong with that dress, Koukla. You look like a fucking goddess, but it ain’t about the dress. It’s just you,” I tell her right before I lean down and claim her mouth.

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