Page 40 of False God

“There’s Maddie,” I say. “I’ll see you guys later.”

I walk away carefully, as the grass and flagstone patio are challenging surfaces to navigate while wearing heels.

Catching up with Maddie gets interrupted after about fifteen minutes by a friend of Gigi’s. That leads into two hours of nonstop conversation. I finally excuse myself to use the bathroom, opting to head inside rather than use the pool house one.

My stomach growls as I pass the kitchen and walk down the hall—a reminder that all I’ve eaten since lunch at the yacht club was a few canapés. Clangs echo behind me as the catering staff prepares the upcoming courses.

My heels click against tiles as I walk into the closest bathroom. My dark brown hair and vibrant red dress are vivid splashes of color in the reflection of the massive mirror above the twin sinks. Everything in here—porcelain and marble and Egyptian cotton—is white. I pee, wash my hands, then attempt to smooth the frizz that’s appeared along my hairline.

Humidity: 1. Hair spray: 0.

I debate going upstairs to grab a lipstick out of my room, but decide against it. It’s completely dark out, so the fireworks are set to start soon. I’ll grab some food, then head down to the beach to watch them.

When I’m halfway down the hallway that connects to the front entryway, a tall figure approaches from the opposite direction. My heartbeat stutters, then accelerates, when I recognize Charlie Marlborough. I spotted him once, about an hour ago, talking with two friends of my grandfather’s, but we haven’t spoken since he arrived.

Hishair is perfect. So is the rest of his immaculate appearance. I can’t even spot a wrinkle in his suit.

I raise my chin when he reaches me, determined to hold eye contact. “What’s your excuse for trespassing this time?”

“Trespassing?” His left eyebrow lifts. I feel the movement as a spasm in my stomach, same as the first time we met. “I know you wouldn’t have invited me, Kensington, but Iwasinvited.”

“Not inside. There are four bathrooms in the pool house forguests.”

Anyone else, and I wouldn’t give a shit. But combat has become my default setting around Charlie. He’s never tried to flatter or impress me the way most men do. And I’m … honestly, I’m not sure how else to act around him.

“I’m not looking for the loo,” he tells me. “I was looking for you.”

My next step makes me totter in my heels, off-balance for reasons that have everything to do with him. “I actually need to?—”

A warm hand wraps around my left bicep, halting me in place. My world narrows to nothing but that confident touch. I’m instantly aware of everything about it. The strength in his grip. The searing warmth of his skin. The rough calluses on his palm.

“The only thing you need to do is listen to me.”

The words drip with arrogance. I’m sure he’s accustomed to always being indulged.

“Like hell I?—”

Again, he interrupts. “I’m sorry.” That mostly green gaze drills into me, fierce and persistent.

It’s impossible to ignore the sincerity in his voice, yet I try very hard to.

“What I said last summer …” He grimaces. “Well, it goes without saying, you were never meant to hear that.”

“Wow. Award for Most Pathetic Apology goes to?—”

“I’m not finished.” Charlie steps closer, his nearness unnerving me as much as the unwavering eye contact and the way he’s still holding my arm. “It was a rubbish thing to say, and I regret ever saying it. I was … upset about things that had nothing to do with anyone there, including you. And speaking ofyou, Elizabeth Kensington, you never told me your surname when we first met. I recognized Kensington when Ellis said it, and I made incorrect assumptions based on …” He clears his throat. “Based on the way other women were acting around me. That’s not—I don’t think that about you, Lili.”

Damn him.

Damn him for apologizing.

Damn him for making me believe him.

Damn him for calling me Lili like he knows me well enough to.

I’ve met a lot of guys who were incapable of taking accountability for their actions. Who made excuses and shifted blame. It can easily become second nature when you’re used to everyone accommodating you. And I would have bet money—lots of money—that Charles Marlborough fell into the category ofentitled man who avoids apologies like a contagious disease.

“I thought we first met at Kensington Consolidated,” I say. “That’s what you told Fran.”

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