Page 48 of False God

I did chug a couple of espressos and apply two layers of concealer under my eyes before crawling into the back of the SUV that drove me from the Hamptons to the airport this morning, so I look well rested.

“Red, White, and Blue party must not have been all that exciting this year then.”

I take a sip of the sparkling water I grabbed out of the fridge. “Actually, Tripp was right.”

Bridget’s forehead wrinkles. “Don’t let him hear you say that.” Without pausing, she adds, “Right about what?”

“Charles Marlborough is single.”

“Charles Mar—oh. Theduke?” She leans forward. “How do you know?”

I raise both eyebrows.

She raises hers right back. “Details, Lili.”

Heat creeps into my cheeks. “He kissed me last night. So, I slapped him and said I wasn’t a cheater. He told me he told Fran he wasn’t available … because he was interested in me.”

Her eyes widen more with each sentence. “And then?”

“We kissed some more. He said, ‘Happy Fourth of July,’ and walked off. I went to watch the fireworks, didn’t see him for the rest of the night.”

Bridget’s witnessed plenty of what Gigi would call “unladylike” moments featuring yours truly, but no way am I going to cop to getting off on Charlie’s leg while my ex is sleeping fifteen feet away.

“How was it?”

“It was good.”

She smirks. “You’re bright red, you know.”

“It was great,” I amend. “But it’s never going to happen again.”

“Why not?”

“Because he just … left.”

Bridget shrugs. “So? He sounds like perfect one-night-stand material. Treat yourself to a summer fling.”

“I’m not looking for a one-night stand or a fling.”

“Why not? You want another relationship?”

“No. I—no.”

Bridget nods like that’s the answer she was expecting. “You didn’t blushoncewhile talking about that lawyer in Chicago, you know.”

I doubt I ever blushed while talking about Cal either. When it comes to relationships, I’ve always played it safe. I’ve always been the less invested one.

“He just walked off,” I blurt. “So, I’m not going to chase?—”

Bridget leans closer. “I think you met a guy who doesn’t give a shit that you’reElizabeth Kensington, and it’s freaking you the fuck out.”

She doesn’t know the full story. Doesn’t know I first met him last summer. Doesn’t know the rude comments he made about me. Doesn’t know he kissed me after apologizing. Doesn’t know I had the best orgasm of my life last night and he’d barely even touched me to achieve it, as he so cockily informed me.

Bridget doesn’t know how reckless I feel around him.

My entire life, I’ve strove for perfection and often fallen short.

Getting into Yale, where my father went for business school, only to transfer and graduate somewhere else.

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