Page 37 of Love Set Free

Jackson

Walking into the hotel with the Wilding family feels just as uncomfortable the second time around. As soon as the sole of my sneaker touches the lobby’s marble floor, I half expect an employee to come up to me, inform me that someone like me doesn’t belong here, and then swiftly show me the door. I stick close to Phoenix, avoid making eye contact with anyone, and scarcely even breathe until we’re all in the elevator. Once the doors close, then it feels like I can relax and think about getting to spend another night sleeping in a ridiculously comfortable bed.

My heart is still racing from being questioned by the police. I can only thank my guardian angel, or whatever saint protects morons, that Phoenix got his way and the police talked to us together. Since it’s his kidnapping that the police truly care about, they directed most of their questions to him. Once I gave them the basic details of my own supposed abduction and told them that I spent the rest of my time inside of a box, I pretty much stopped being of any interest to them.

Thank God. Because I’m a shit liar.

There’s a reason that I ended up in that box, wearing a blindfold.

The initial plan, and the whole reason I was hired, was so that I could befriend Phoenix once the kidnappers nabbed him. They wanted him docile and cooperative. And, apparently, they’d run enough kidnapping schemes in the past that Mueller had noticed that whenever they had more than one captive on their hands, the kidnapped individuals tended to respond better when there was a possible threat against someone they’d bonded with, rather than when it was just a threat against themselves.

Which is why, when they turned their sights on Phoenix Wilding, they decided to give him a fellow captive. The only problem was that Phoenix usually traveled alone.

And that’s where I came in.

Was I a bit put off when I learned exactly what I was hired for? Yes. Yes, I was. Did it upset me enough that I quit? Obviously not. The fact that I still needed the money they were offering hadn’t gone away just because the exact nature of the job wasn’t quite what I thought it was going to be. I was so desperate to keep this job, and the payday they were offering, that I was more freaked out that I’d be fired when Mueller was disappointed by how my “training” was going, than I was by what they were asking me to do.

The training they had me doing, before flying me down to Brazil, was a bunch of roleplaying with Jones, where he’d pretend to be Phoenix and I would try to talk to him and forge a bond with him. Except that I was really bad at it. Really, really bad. All I had to do was talk to someone just as myself—they weren’t even asking me to pretend to be somebody I wasn’t. But I couldn’t do it. No matter what the topic of conversation, even when they wrote up a script for me to follow, I sounded like I was lying.

Each day that went by, Mueller got more and more unhappy with my inability to be convincing. I for sure thought I was going to be fired. And I was more than a little afraid of what being fired from something illegal would mean.

It was Jones, my roleplaying partner, who came up with the idea that, if I couldn’t sell a lie, then maybe it should stop being a lie. He called it method acting.

I wasn’t thrilled when I got to Rio and they showed me the box they wanted me in. I was even less thrilled when they handed over a blindfold for me to put on, tied me up, and then had me climb into the box. But I did it. All of it. Of my own free will.

And then I waited. And waited.

They’d warned me they weren’t exactly sure when Phoenix was flying out to Brazil. The information they’d gotten from a crewmember of Phoenix’s private jet was that he intended to go to one of a couple possible parties that were scheduled for shortly after New Year’s, but that he hadn’t confirmed with them which one it was going to be yet. We all flew down to Brazil, so we’d be in place and ready for whenever Phoenix flew down. If I’d known I would end up stuck in that fucking box for three weeks before they were able to grab Phoenix… Who am I kidding? I’d never would’ve had the guts to tell them I’d have preferred not to have spent all that extra time locked inside a box, not being able to see, and living on the crappy food Silva brought me twice a day.

But Jones was right. Once the lie was no longer a lie, everything that came out of my mouth sounded believable. And once Phoenix was stuck in a box too…I was able to do the job they were paying me for. I was his fellow captive. I befriended him, kept him company in the dark.

I never expected—I don’t think anyone would’ve expected—that my inability to lie meant that I couldn’t even lie to myself. I might’ve befriended Phoenix, but he became my friend rightback. And when I was his comfort, his voice of calm and hope in the dark…that’s what he was for me, too.

Moment by moment, hour by hour, day by day…I was his and he was mine.

So, so many lies…that became the truth. My truth.

And now…now…I can’t imagine being apart from him. I don’t want to be apart from him. Not ever. No matter what that takes.

Which is why I can’t help dragging my feet as we walk down the hall toward our rooms. His room, and mine. I already know what happened when Phoenix left me alone in my room last night. And the sheer relief I felt when Phoenix saved me from being without him.

But I can’t expect him to do that again, right? Surely, Phoenix will expect me to go into my own room and let him go across the hall into his. That would be the logical thing, the unselfish thing.

Because I do recognize that this driving need to keep Phoenix with me at all times, as close as possible at all times, is selfish of me. I just…don’t care. I suppose that’s what being selfish is all about.

I could kiss him when Phoenix makes no move to head toward the door to his own room, instead turning to face mine as he asks, “Interested in watching a movie or something?”

And since there’s nothing stopping me from doing exactly that, I weave my fingers through the soft strands of Phoenix’s hair, cupping the back of his head, and softly brush his lips with mine. Hmm. It was nice when I did it this morning; it’s even better now, without the scraggly growth of hair that had been on my chin getting in the way.

“Do I get to pick the movie?” I barely lift my mouth from his as I ask the question and my tongue flicks out to quickly trace a quick lick to the lush curve of Phoenix’s plump upper lip as I wait for his response.

To my disappointment, instead of pressing our lips back together to exchange more kisses, Phoenix pulls back so that he can give me a sour look as he replies, “No. Didn’t we already establish that you have shitty taste in movies and that I would be the one to pick any movies we watch together?”

“Nope, pretty sure we didn’t. I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

“Wow,” Phoenix says with a laugh, his teasing smile brightening his entire face. “You are a horrible liar. It’s written all over your face. You’re such a horrible liar, I should call you Mr. Liar McLiarson. Just for that, I definitely get to pick out the movie.”

It doesn’t matter to me what we watch, or who gets to pick, so long as watching a movie together means that Phoenix is staying with me. For a little while longer, at least. Maybe even for the rest of the night, if I can get him to. And he’s right, I am bad at lying, so I just shrug and go to pull the plastic keycard out of my pocket.

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