Page 58 of Claiming Pretty

If Ty felt threatened by my words, he didn’t show it. The resolute stubbornness remained on his face.

“Promises are funny things, aren’t they?” he said, his tone smooth but layered with meaning, his gaze never leaving mine. “Sometimes we make them to feel safe. Because wethinkthey’re right.”

His hand brushed against mine, casual to an onlooker, but deliberate enough that I felt the heat of his touch like a brand.

“It’s always been easy for you to hide from yourself, hummingbird. But I’ll always lead you back to the truth. No matter how painful it is.”

My breath hitched, the double meaning in his words slicing through the careful resolve I was trying to maintain.

The director might have thought we were speaking about family, about our fake courtship, but Ty’s intensity told me exactly what he meant: I was lying to myself. About him. About us. And he wouldn’t let me run from it.

The director cleared her throat and fanned herself. “My goodness, you two. It’s clear how intensely you feel for each other.”

I forced a laugh, swallowing the knot in my throat as I took a small step to the side.

Ty didn’t let me go far. His fingers trailed down my backbefore settling on the small of it, a reminder that he was still in control of this performance.

Even though it wasn’t really just a performance for him.

My heart pounded as I avoided his gaze, my eyes darting to the clock on the wall.

Ciaran had to be almost finished. He had to be.

Ty’s boldness was spiraling, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep ignoring how it affected me.

The director held out her hand to escort us out. “There will be plenty more time for any other questions you may have.”

Ty held out his hand for me and I took it.

Before I could stop myself, I imagined that we lived in a different life. We would go out to lunch in the city. He would buy an expensive bottle of champagne to toast the start of our journey toward adopting a baby.

Ourbaby.

As we climbed into bed that night, the only thing on our minds would be what to call her. Or him. We’d shed a tear because we both were thinking Mona for a girl, after his mother.

A sadness settled in my stomach, because I knew it was not a life made for me.

Not with my past.

Not with the Sochai still out there taking girls, using girls.

Not with a good man’s heart in my hands.

I walked with Ty out into the hallway, my head spinning.

The director thanked us warmly, her smile practiced and full of hope as she wished us luck on our “journey to parenthood.”

But I couldn’t summon even the pretense of a smile because my attention had been snagged elsewhere.

At the end of the hallway, a figure was retreating from the door of the director’s office, moving too quietly, too deliberately. The black hood masked most of his face, but not enough to hide the flash of icy-blue eyes that burned with a familiar madness as they glared at where Ty held my hand.

Ciaran.

My stomach plummeted, fear gripping me like a vise.

Ty was still shaking the director’s hand, his polite mask firmly in place, but the moment she turned toward her office, everything would fall apart.

She would see Ciaran. And then what? She’d scream. Call the police.

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