Page 30 of Lies Like Love

Fel’s eyes lock on mine and my gut plummets watching her eyes dart between the three of us standing below her. Puzzle pieces click together at the same time as they feel like they’re breaking everything apart.

I didn’t see it before, but the resemblance between Fel and her mother is suddenly clear as day. Her text still open on my phone, tearing my life down the middle.

One glance in Fel’s eyes carves a hole beneath me.

I’m sinking.

Fel looks beautiful tonight out of her school uniform. Her red hair is loose around her shoulders, with a single braid holding it off her face like a headband. Her lemon-yellow dress is brighter than everything in the room as she slowly makes her way down the steps toward us.

But the closer she gets, the darker her expression. And as my dad slips his hand in her mother’s, every beautiful inch of her face falls. An expression that twists the knife as I realize what this night really is.

Her mother’s date.

My father’s business dinner.

Only Dad would use those words when he really means he’s introducing me to his new girlfriend. Everything in his life is a transaction. A calculation. And this one might be what breaks me.

I’ve only spoken to Fel a handful of times at school these past couple of weeks. We mostly talk through text when neither of us can sleep. But something about this girl felt like my lifeline in a cold, fake world. And as Dad’s lips move with his words, he takes the scissors to it.

One sentence and he changes fate.

“Jude, meet your soon-to-be stepsister, Felicity.”

9

Fel

TwistedRosesisn’tthefirst tattoo parlor to carry my body piercings. But as I spread my jewelry out in the display case, my business feels real in a way it hasn’t before. More so than when I started an online Etsy shop or had necklaces displayed in my first storefront. More than when Maren came home one day with my barbell through her belly button.

It feels official.

The Twisted Roses celebrity client list isn’t exaggerated. They come and go discreetly on a daily basis, already eyeing my jewelry as they do.

When Madison Maine walked past me two days ago and complimented my necklace like she wasn’t one of the biggest names in rock music, it took everything in me not to scream. She might have been here for an ankle tattoo, but for the first time in a long time, my dreams felt within reach.

That feeling is something I hold onto every time I cross paths with Jude in the lobby, and he offers a snide remark or sideways glance. I remind myself this is worth it every time he avoids me or pretends I don’t exist.

This isn’t about him.

“I want more stories about Jude as a teenager.” Echo hops up onto the counter behind the display case and pops her gum. She crosses one tattooed thigh over the other, as she blows another bubble with her crimson lips.

Of the four artists who work at the parlor, Echo is by far the friendliest. She might come across as intimidating with her Cruella De Ville hair and collection of black and gray tattoos, but underneath, she reminds me a lot of Maren. Bubbly, energetic, bursting at the seams.

Today, she’s in a Killers T-shirt, cut around the collar so it falls off one shoulder, revealing a star tattoo. And she’s wearing short black shorts that show off the bows on the backs of her thighs every time she bends over.

I wish I had her confidence.

Growing up, I was taught women should be unblemished and unmarked. I was raised to believe being an individual made a person ugly. Perfection was curated and looked a certain way.

But Echo shatters my misconceptions and the more I get to know her and the guys at the shop, I feel like I understand the man Jude has become more and more.

He grew up in the same world I did—worse even. His father had the kind of money a person can take three lifetimes spending while never reaching the end of it. He had everything people think they want. Jude was the football captain, homecoming king, most-wanted senior.

While it seemed to fit him at the time, witnessing him now talking to Sage, or interacting with a client, I’m starting to see his younger self was a veil.

“What do you want to know about him?” I rearrange a few barbells and try not to react to her casual mention of Jude.

“Everything.” She narrows her cat eyes, and they’re devious as she watches me fill the display case with a new collection.

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