Page 52 of Ugly Truths
Her fingers tracing the outlines of the veins on the back of my hand with delicate, deliberate strokes. Each time the tip of her nail becomes the only point of contact, my grip tightens reflexively, pressing into the soft flesh.
For the first time in too long, my mind is finally—finally—quiet.
When we pull into the garage, I kill the engine. The only reprieve I feel for my sanity is that Cillian agreed with Davey’s assessment of the threat Elena poses, but it doesn’t stop the paranoia from creeping in.
What if I’m inviting a fox back into the henhouse?
I move efficiently to grab her two bags from the back seat before opening her door. She looks up at me, searching my face like she’s trying to gauge what I’m thinking, but I just nod, a silent cue to follow me inside.
Walking her back into this house through the side entrance feels like stepping through some distorted version of reality, like no time and a century have passed all at once.
The hallway grows darker as I shut and lock the door, blocking out the garage’s motion lights. I quietly disarm and rearm my security system on the panel. The routine has always been second nature, but now, the air around me crackles.
Just as I turn, I’m being pressed backward. The bags slip from my hands, landing on the hardwood as presses me into the wall. One hand slides over my shoulderwhile the other fists into the already-wrinkled fabric of my shirt through my unbuttoned suit jacket. Then, she stands on her toes and presses her lips to mine.
She’s more tentative at first, her tongue moving achingly slow, teasing and retreating. It makes my blood burn and pulse pound against my ribs.
If nothing else exists between us, this still feels real. Tangible. The one last shred of hope I’ve been holding onto because there’s just no way she can fake this. The goosebumps on her arms aren’t self-made; her panting is too uneven for it to be forced.
Right?
Her hand roams my chest, stroking the sensitive spots along my sides, each movement against me growing more confident. Even through my shirt, I feel everything. The light drag of her fingertips, the way she’s touching me with purpose. Elena pulls back just enough to expose the flush of her cheeks and the lust brimming in her eyes when she opens them, half-hooded and relaxed.
This is different. It has to be.
Gripping her firmly at the waist, I start walking her backward, guiding us toward the kitchen doorway. She allows me to move her, and that’s when I cup her face between my hands, tilting her head to give myself better access to that beautiful, swollen mouth.
“I’m taking you in the kitchen,” I murmur the demand.
I’m going to fuck her on that counter. Not just because I need to be inside her again—though God knows I do—but because I need to erase what happened the last time we stood in that space. I won’t let her goodbye be the memory that lingers in that room, even if this is all a colossal mistake.
Her eyes gloss over, and she nods in understanding. Her hands move between us, fingers curling around the leather of my belt, tugging just slightly, voice barely above a whisper.
“Please.”
My mouth is on hers again as we step through the threshold, keeping her where I want her. She moves with me, and for a second, it feels like nothing existsoutside of this.
But all too quickly, a prickle of awareness creeps up my spine. The smell of hazelnut, a slightclinkof ceramic, the muted movements of someone trying to be invisible.
My body tenses as I pull back, eyes landing on Kendall standing at the island, who just finished serving coffee from the glass pot, but not just to anyone.
To my father.
William sits on a stool, poised as ever, his mug halfway to his lips, eyebrows raised in that way that makes it impossible to tell if he’s amused or irritated. Kendall’s eyes, meanwhile, dart from the back of Elena’s head to me and back again, like she’s regretting every life choice that led her to this moment.
My hands still on Elena’s face, just as panic flickers across her expression. She swivels her head enough to see both of them, and the second they all recognize one another, their expressions change.
Kendall’s features soften as she presses a hand over her heart. “Scarlett. It’s so good to see you.”
I feel Elena slip seamlessly back into that persona, her posture adjusting, as she offers Kendall an embarrassed smile, cheeks stained a dark shade of pink. “Hi, Kendall. It’s good to see you, too.”
My hands drop just as my palms begin to sweat. Hers also fall.
I shift my gaze to my father, taking him in fully now. At first glance, he’s composed—his expression carefully arranged. But I know him. It’s in the sharpness of his jaw, the way his fingers flex subtly around the handle of his mug.
He’s furious.
Letting out a slow breath through his nose, William lifts his mug slightly in a silent toast, his smile thin. “Scarlett,” he says, voice laced with false warmth. “What a lovely surprise.”
