Page 98 of False God

I was expecting lots of activity downstairs, but it’s completely quiet.

When I walk into the living room area, Chloe, Fran, and Bridget are all lounging around, sipping from wineglasses.

“Where are the boys?” I ask.

Fran smirks. “You mean, where’s Charlie?”

Heat in my cheeks tells me I’m blushing. That’sexactlywhat I meant.

Bridget winks, then nods toward the glass windows that look out at the pool. I walk over and glance outside.

Theo, Hugo, Jasper, Cal, and Tripp are all seated on the line of lounge chairs, sipping on beers. Charlie is standing, leaning against the large teak table, talking to a rapt audience.

I still can’t believe he’s here. I’d convinced myself I’d never see Charlie again.

He points toward something past the pool. The guys all glance that way.

Me? I’m focused on the flex of his muscular forearm, on full display thanks to his rolled-up sleeves. The warmth in myface spreads, sliding down my spine and settling in my lower stomach.

It’s strange, seeing him casually chatting with my closest friends. Looking like part of my world.

I continue into the kitchen, where appetizers have been spread out.

Louise, one of two maids the Beaumonts employ here, offers me a glass of Chevalier-Montrachet Chardonnay, which I gratefully accept. André, the chef, is busy preparing dinner—what looks like bouillabaisse. The scents of saffron and garlic swirl in the air as I sip on the crisp wine, then nibble on a slice of cheese from the plate.

Everyone else migrates to the kitchen gradually, including Charlie. I avoid looking at him as I chat with Chloe about the play she’s auditioning for once she and Theo are back in London. Overcompensating for the acute awareness buzzing in my bloodstream. His presence lingers like an unsolved mystery I can’t forget about.

André serves the bouillabaisse out by the pool. We’re a couple of miles from the coast of the French Riviera, but the nearness of the ocean is evident in the salty breeze. Leaves sway on the trellis that shades part of the table.

I don’t sit by Charlie. I feel … shy around him. He’s here for me, but we’re not together. Outside of the bedroom, I’m unsure how to act. What the boundaries are. What the expectations are. My friends aren’t subtle about glancing between us as we all take seats, which only adds to my uncertainty. If I didn’t like him, if all I admired about Charlie was the size of his dick, I wouldn’t care. I’d be relaxed, joking and laughing and looking forward to a night of incredible sex.

But I do like him. And I do care.

I end up next to Jasper, then try to eavesdrop on Charlie’s conversation with Theo at the other end of the table between bites of savory stew.

We play cards after dinner. First euchre, then Texas Hold’em.

When Bridget starts yawning, I check the time on my phone, shocked to see it’s nearly midnight.

Fran is first to stumble upstairs. The rest of us follow, the slow treads and shutting doors the same soundtrack as the past few nights.

I step into my room, releasing a long exhale once the door is closed.

It’s a relief to no longer feel on display.

These are my best friends. They knew me in elementary school, when I first discovered crushes. They’ve met every guy I ever dated—with the exception of Lawrence because everything with Cal felt too fresh—and they teased me about breaking hearts long before any of us knew what that really felt like.

And it feels like they’ve all already realized that IlikeCharlie.

I thought we were done after he turned down Theo’s invitation to come here and—unintentionally?—insulted me in the process. No part of me expected him to show up in France. He’sconstantlyshowing up when I least expect. Even when I think I’m prepared to see him, I’m not.

Charlie’s like one of those jack-in-the-box toys. I think it’s closed, tightly contained, and then he suddenly reappears. And instead of a disturbing clown, I’m faced with a gorgeous man.

I run through my evening skin care routine, change into a silk nightgown, then slip between sheets that smell like lavender. Stare at the strip of moonlight beaming across the hardwood floor.

It’s completely silent in the house.

It’d be peaceful, if not for my erratic pulse and racing thoughts.

---