Page 78 of False God

She’s stunning, impossible to look away from.

So, I don’t. I stare openly, tracking her progress down the aisle. When everyone stands to see the bride, I do too. But I’m not looking at the figure clad in white. My eyes refuse to leave Lili.

She doesn’t look my way. Her focus is on her best friend who’s about to get married.

Chloe reaches the altar. Her father lifts the veil, kisses her cheek, and then places her hand in Theo’s. He shaved his beard for the big day, his face fully visible as he beams at his bride.

The bridesmaid next to Lili leans in to whisper something to her. She smiles in response. Nods.

Then, her eyes catch mine.

We stare at each other the same way we did in bed this morning. In a church packed with people, it feels like we’re completely alone.

I can’t tell what Lili is thinking. She’s smiling, but it’s still. Frozen in place. Expected rather than enthusiastic.

When the minister starts speaking, she breaks eye contact.

My attention wanders during the ceremony itself, my focus torn between stealing looks at Lili and fighting the urge to bounce my knee impatiently. It lasts about an hour, and then the procession happens in reverse, Theo and Chloe the last to leave.

I escort Beatrice and Alexandra outside. It’s the polite thing to do, even if neither of them is my actual date. I engage Alexandra in conversation as we file out of the church, hoping that paying her attention will smother speculation that Bea and I are secretly engaged.

The reception is taking place in the nearby carriage house, guests milling around on the lawn and then gradually making their way over to the other building.

I spot my godfather a second before he calls me over. “Charles!”

Louis Haywood was one of my father’s closest friends. The only true one he had possibly. Balding—although his top hat hides it—portly, and good-natured, he never let my father’s sharp tongue cut too deep. Stuck around. I have memories of him scattered throughout my childhood, as if he were a permanent member of our small family.

I haven’t seen him since the funeral.

I’ve dodged him since the funeral.

I say a quick farewell to Beatrice and Alexandra, then head in his direction.

“Good to see you, Louis,” I say and mean it.

“Splendid to see you, my boy!” His smile is so wide that it squints his eyes to accommodate its size. He shakes my hand, then clasps my palm between both of his. “How’ve you been?”

“Better,” I admit.

Louis’s enthusiasm fizzles, his hands releasing mine and reaching up to squeeze my shoulder.

I’ve wondered previously if he knew about my father’s financial decline, and I wonder about it again now. But I didn’t ask before, and I don’t ask now.

This isn’t the proper place, and the answer won’t solve any of my current problems.

“I’ve got some time in my calendar next week,” he tells me. “Would love to make a trip to Newcastle. It’s been too long.”

“I’ll be out of town,” I tell him. “Maybe the week after?”

Louis nods. “Out of town? A vacation?”

“Not exactly. I’m … selling the villa in Saint-Tropez.”

He’s silent for a moment, and I’m worried he’ll ask why directly. He doesn’t.

“How’s Blythe?” he questions.

“She’s”—I smile wryly—“Blythe.”

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