Page 43 of Under the Lies

Like me, Noah doesn’t fit in this world anymore, but unlike me, he’s sitting on his throne at the top while I’m still trying to find my place somewhere near the bottom.

I take a sip of champagne, transfixed by him. His movements. Powerful like a panther, he prowls through the crowd. So proud in his steps, so sure. So angry. He walks like a king, an invisible crown upon his mussed hair.

Even from here, I spy the tension that rests in the corner of his eyes. Whatever business he had with Seamus, it didn’t go well.

Hmm, interesting.

I don’t even have that effect on him and it makes me wonder what happened to make his shoulders that taut, his frown so prominent. It creases more when he still doesn’t see me.

Stopping in the middle of the room, he looks around. And I giggle at the lost look that takes over his face. It’s small, so small no one else probably notices it, but I do. I see it. Like he somehow missed me.

Oh, how invisible I’ve become that all it takes is some well-placed shadows and a fake plant to hide me from even the most keen observer.

Something heavy settles in my stomach. Am I that lackluster? That insignificant? I start to move from behind my hiding spot, no longer enjoying being invisible, not from him, not from the man who has always been able to find me. I don’t get more than a step before I stop.

A man I don’t recognize takes a sip from his glass as he steps in front of Noah, and that must be a magical sip with the gift of bravery because the man so boldly reaches out to touch Noah’s arm. He turns with a sneer and the bold man shrinks back.

Whatever Noah says it’s too low for me to hear, but the man looks like he’s about to make a mess in his sharp pants. He then starts to back up, steps hurried under the scrutiny of Noah’s cool eyes.

He keeps walking backward, apologizing profusely for interrupting Noah, for not thinking before touching him, for thinking he was worth Noah’s time at all.

What did Noah say to him?

The man’s not paying attention to where he’s going and my eyes widen, watching almost in slow motion as he runs into the tray of a passing by wait staff. They both tumble to the floor while the tray goes flying in the air, the drinks balancing along with it.

When the tray lands, it’s without the drinks. The glasses go off in all directions, shattering on the hard floor. The contents go everywhere as well. On people, on furniture, on the ground.

It’s eerily quiet. No one dares to move, except for another server who comes along and slips on the mess. Their tray clatters to the floor while these drinks get thrown on a person.

Noah.

He’s soaked, the shirt drenched and sticking to his skin. His unruly hair flattened.

No one moves.

I’m not sure anyone even breathes.

The room hangs in a deafening silence. And I can’t help it, can’t stop it even if I wanted to. I laugh. Full on belly laughter that pulls at the muscles in my stomach, tears welling in my eyes.

Noah jerks in my direction, eyeing me with his hard, assessing eyes. Except, they’re not that hard. Not right now. I see them melt when they latch onto me.

Soaking wet and smelling of alcohol, he’s fighting a smile. One directed at me.

I smile back. Uninhibited and free, a feeling I don’t think Noah allows himself to have. Even now he’s battling with himself, I can see it when we lock eyes. But I feel something else. This magnetic pull pulses between us.

Forgetting everyone else, he takes a step closer.

In a mood to play, I take one backward.

He raises a brow with another step.

Gonna come get me, Kincaid? My eyes dance.

You bet your ass, BB. His seem to say back.

My smile grows with each step I take, with each step he takes.

Our connection is broken with the same man from before rushes toward Noah, profusely apologizing. Again.

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