Page 115 of Ugly Truths
My head tilts almost of its own accord. A smile pulls at my mouth, just enough to let the venom peek through.
“Yes, he did. And it’s tragic, isn’t it?” I lower my voice, watching his expression. “What happened to my father. It’s the kind of thing that could happen to anyone, no matter howbrilliantthey are.”
Martin’s eyes widen a fraction before settling into the cool, indifferent gaze that my father taught him so well.
“Well,” he huffs, cheeks reddening just slightly, “I have bigger concerns than the ghosts of old men.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
My answer only makes his face flush more. A retort is on the tip of his tongue, but it never comes to pass. His expression hardens just as he dips his head in our direction. “Take care, Silas. Scarlett.”
Martin turns on his heel without waiting for a response and walks toward Jeremy, who is standing alongside some of our mother's cousins. Jeremy’s face lights up as he approaches, and they embrace. Several yardsaway, Davey’s eyes meet mine, and I give him a subtle nod. He immediately pulls out his phone to text the team.
“Si?” Elena’s voice pulls me back, soft and questioning. “You okay?”
I’ll be okay when this day is done.
I exhale slowly, the tension in my chest easing slightly. “Yeah, I’m ready to go,” I sigh before adding, “Though, I’m still game for that altar.”
Elena snorts, rolling her eyes. “You'restillan idiot.”
Chapter 45
Elena
The hostess leads Silas and me through the chic interior of the upscale Italian restaurant and out onto the patio. It's a strangely warm October evening. The sun is at just the right angle to let the overhead bistro lights and discreet patio heaters take over. Everything is bathed in a warm, inviting glow.
It was impossible not to notice how the staff seemed to have been waiting for us, expectant smiles on their faces as Silas guided me inside. Ten seconds barely passed before they led us wordlessly to a table he undoubtedly selected when he made the reservation.
We are slightly removed from the cluster of other tables in a corner, but still in full view of the restaurant's interior through the expansive windows. Just on the walk outside, we’d encountered several familiar faces, and even more of Silas’s peers seem to be scattered on the patio with us.
Their eyes feel like needles in the side of my head, and my body grows hotter with each heartbeat.
Silas pulls out my chair, and I sit, carefully adjusting the blazer resting on my shoulders so it doesn’t slip off. The weight of it feels almost protective against the hushed whispers rumbling across the dining area. After months of blending in this spring, I suddenly feel starkly out of place. But that’s exactly why we’re here, isn’t it?
Since the funeral, and despite the media spinning our story into some fairytale romance, the people in Silas’s circles have been anything but welcoming.
Natalie has been keeping tabs on the reaction, and they feel betrayed. Most are suspicious of me, and I suppose I don’t blame them. Silas saw this coming, though. He insisted that hiding away now won’t do us any good. If we act normal, they’ll get over their shock quicker, and we’ll be old news by the time the next scandal pops up.
We didn’t get the response we were hoping for from Peter, either. Davey’s sources have no updates on his reaction to my resurrection or whether he has set any new plans in motion. They believe that this might help provoke Peter, especially if he still has ears in Chicago.
Two birds, one stone, and all.
So this evening’s plan was born. A time and day of the week that was picked for peak visibility. Cillian, Lloyd, and Cora are just beyond the lattice patio walls in one of the SUVs. Silas’s belly band holster, carrying his preferred Glock 43, is perfectly concealed under his clothes.
Once I'm settled in my seat, Silas pulls out the chair on the opposite side, but he doesn’t sit. He begins to rearrange the table, sliding his chair directly next to mine before moving the dinnerware in front of it. I watch him curiously as he maneuvers the furniture and places his jacket over the back of his now adjacent seat, revealing a black sweater with the sleeves folded up his forearms, before sitting.
Without missing a beat, Silas reaches under me and pulls the leg of my chair. The seat scrapes against the pavers, drawing even more attention from the guests around us. Beneath the table, his hand finds the top calf of my crossed legs, lifting the fabric of my wide-leg trousers just enough to rest his hand on the bare skin of my calf.
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Silas, however, doesn’t bat an eye.
He picks up the wine menu, holding it out between us with his free hand. “Do you have any preference on the wine?” he asks, flipping it over. “I was thinking of getting a bottle of Barolo. It’s a good year forit.” The way his thumb caresses back and forth under the table tells me his thoughts are on averydifferent subject.
My mouth is too dry.
I reach for the pre-filled crystal water goblet at my place setting. Though Silas doesn't turn his head, I can feel his gaze pressing on me over the top of his glasses as I take a long sip. I clear my throat and manage to murmur, “That sounds good.”
Silas nods once before setting the wine menu down, all the while, his thumb continues its slow strokes.
