Page 55 of All's Fair in Love and Blackmail

“Yeah,” I say as my heart lurches again. “Just in case what?”

Juliet’s wide eyes fill with more tears. “I’m not a good liar.”

This is correct; she is not a good liar.

“Calm down, Jules—justcalm down,” Aurora says with a bite of impatience.

“I’m trying,” Juliet says as tears stream down her cheeks. “I’m trying!”

“Try harder,” Aurora snaps, which is of course very helpful.

But this, apparently, is exactly what Juliet needs to hear. “Try harder,” she repeats breathlessly, nodding like a bobblehead. “Okay. Try harder.”

“There’s no story,” I say to Aurora. “He was in our house, I hit him. I’ve never seen him before in my life. He was reaching for a knife. It was self-defense.” I swallow and then add, “Right?”

But Aurora rolls her eyes. “Not necessarily. Didn’t you hear about that guy who went to prison because he killed the guy who broke into his house to rob him?”

“What?” I say with a frown, my insides still jittery. “That’s not a thing.”

Aurora waves this away. “I don’t know—there are laws about it. But?—”

We freeze and turn together at the sound of the front door flying open, and two seconds later Poppy rushes into the kitchen, followed by?—

“You traitor!” Aurora gasps to Poppy as Cyrus storms in after her, his brows low, his face rigid.

“He was in the car with me,” Poppy says apologetically. She hurries to the body on the floor, kneeling down and swinging a large first-aid kit from off her shoulder. “What happened?”

“I hit him over the head,” I say as my stomach churns.

“Who is he?” Cyrus says through clenched teeth.

“We don’t know.” The words come out as little more than a whisper. “He just?—”

“India?”

The shout comes from out of the room, from the direction of the front door—and I blink as Felix appears, also out of breath, looking for all the world like he ran here. His face is pink, his golden hair mussed, his eyes frantic.

“Felicia?” I say blankly as he staggers into the kitchen.

“You—we were on the phone—and then you screamed, and the line went dead,” he pants, clutching his side. “And the front door was wide open?—”

“I—did you run?” I say.

“Of course not, I was in the car.” He covers the distance between us in several long strides, completely ignoring my siblings and Poppy—he puts his hands briefly on my cheeks, his gaze roving over me. “You’re okay?” he gasps, moving his hands from my face to my shoulders and stepping back to take the rest of me in.

I swat his hands away, but he ignores this, reaching for my shoulders again.

“Fel—”

“Just—hangon,” he grits out impatiently as he spins me around, inspecting every inch of me. “You’re okay? Everything is fine?”

But by the time I’m facing him again, he must be able to see that I’m unharmed, because he gives me a weak nod and finally lets his arms drop to his sides again. “You’re okay.”

Then he bends over, putting his hands on his knees and inhaling deeply as he tries to catch his breath.

There’s silence in the kitchen for the space of about five seconds; then, finally, Cyrus’s voice explodes between us.

“Would someone please tell me what onearthis going on?”

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