Page 11 of Loving the Liar

What is going to happen to me if my father got arrested? Because I assume the police didn’t leave this house empty-handed. What if my name is on anything? Will I get arrested too?

The second I pass the front door, Karl, our butler, runs to the back, telling me not to move. He comes back with my mother, who has tears running down her face and a handkerchief pressed to her cheek like a widow from a 1920s film.

“Ella,” she sobs as I walk toward her.

My poor mother. The day she married my dad, she joined the Silent Circle as a wife. That turned her meek, useless, naïve. She is my living worst nightmare, but I don’t blame her for it. She married into what she thought was stability. Then she got pregnant and stayed for her children. But ultimately, she is nothing without the Circle or my dad. I don’t even want to think of what will happen to her if Gerald Baker goes away. I have a feeling the Shadows, the men of the Silent Circle, won’t leave her be. It’s not that easy.

Holding my phone in one hand, I open my arms to give her a hug, as if I’m the maternal figure in our relationship.

“It’s going to be okay,” I murmur, but before I get to hold her, she snatches my phone and gives it to Karl.

“No phones, Ella. You don’t know who’s listening,” she snaps before her face twists with pain again. “Oh, Ella.”

She grabs my hand, pulling me farther into our mansion. Beige and other neutral colors surround us, the walls only decorated with various paintings from the Baroque and Renaissance movements. It feels like a museum in here, with our family portrait towering over the entrance hall.

“It’s okay, Mom,” I repeat softly.

She shakes her head, and I notice the police tape on my dad’s office door as we walk past. They must have seized everything from that room.

“Ella…” She bursts into tears, a loud wail pouring out of her.

I take her in my arms the second we stand outside the large room we use as a living area. She’s too shaken to even step inside.

“Mom, he’ll be fine. Is he at the police station? Did he call Garcia-Diaz?” My dad’s status is like royalty. He doesn’t usually get in trouble, but should he, he’s got the best attorney in his corner.

She shakes her head. “Dad…” she tries again. I vaguely hear the door to the room behind her, but I’m too focused on her state to look up.

“Dad’s dead.”

That tears my gaze away from my crying mother and to my brother, Luke, who’s standing right there, his hand holding the now open door. The shock from hearing my dad is dead barely registers as my wide eyes jump to the man at Luke’s side.

Hands in the pockets of his dark gray pants, wavy caramel hair falling into his eyes, and beautiful features twisted in a sweet, unadulterated apologetic face; here stands my ex. Christopher Murray.

Chapter Four

Ella

Mr. Perfectly Fine - Taylor Swift

Ever the gentleman, Chris offers an arm to my mother, which she takes eagerly. He helps her to one of the sofas in the room. The red Louis XV antique sofas with hand-carved claw feet—arranged around the fireplace with a lion head above it—make it look like we live in the 18th century. And those stupid uncomfortable sofas cost about thirty grand each.

I feel like my heart hasn’t taken another beat in minutes. My body is on fire, my thoughts spiraling.

He's Luke’s best friend. That’s why he’s here.

That’s why he’s here.

That’s. Why. He’s. Here.

After helping my mom sit down, Chris joins my brother by the fireplace, and I stand there, watching shadows from the fire creeping up both their faces.

Luke is an exact copy of me. Or I of him, I guess. We have the signature Bakers’ white-blonde hair, blue eyes so pale they look painted with watercolors, and soft features that make me the definition of feminine and used to make him a little less masculine when he was a teen. He’s all grown now. Twenty-five, currently shadowing the COO of Bakers Café in Los Angeles so he can take over my dad when…

My dad is dead.

My gaze drops to my mother, and her now awkward noises into her handkerchief bring something else into awareness. She’s not crying anymore.

The room is completely silent. No one is really crying, no one is murmuring an oh my god, no one is wailing about how much they’ll miss Gerald Baker. We all hated him. My mother is worried about herself, terrified about what the future means for her in the Silent Circle now that her husband is dead. What is her role? Who does she belong to? She is nothing but a woman, after all.

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