Page 19 of The Lies I've Told
“Well, right now. Sort of.”
My hands flew up in frustration. “I can’t do this right now. I’m late in setting up breakfast. My head is pounding and—”
And my life just fell apart.
“And what?”
“And nothing. Now, will you help me find my clothes? I need to go try to save face with the rest of the guests. In the meantime, maybe one of us will remember what exactly happened last night. Like, how the hell we ended up here. I’m not even sure this is your room. Did I even show it to you?”
God, everything was hazy.
He nodded, his face still unreadable as he scanned the room and finally met my gaze. “It is. Your sister—the loyal, overly kind woman that she is—was actually booked solid when I made my hasty trip down here. But these rooms hadn’t been opened up for booking yet since they were recently renovated.”
“Yes, I believe she was holding off until after her maternity leave to save my parents the added stress of extra guests while they were in charge. But how would you remember that?” I asked as his head turned, focusing on gathering up his things.
“Don’t know,” he said. “Guess I was sober enough to remember that part.”
“This is a nightmare. I’ve got to go,” I said, flustered, turning toward the door.
“Oh, Millie?” he said, making me turn back around.
I could see a hint of amusement in his eyes, but it was masking something.
Something big.
“What?” I said, trying to hold back my anger.
“You might want to put some pants on before greeting the other guests.”
I glanced down at my bare legs and the lacy panties that barely covered anything before looking back up at the cold smirk spreading across his face.
God, I hated this man.
Thankfully, Molly had prepared for her departure when it came to food. After rushing into the large family-style kitchen, I began searching for anything and everything that might work as a breakfast for twelve because, although she and I had been taught all the same recipes, growing up, she was the only one to remember them or re-create them without burning anything.
But being the overly responsible person she was, Molly had armed me with enough baked goods—both fresh and frozen—to last through Ruby’s first birthday.
Maybe longer.
Now, all I needed was—
“Need some help?”
I twirled around to find the handsome sculptor I’d just run from standing in the doorway to the kitchen.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “No help. Especially from you.”
He ignored my words and sauntered in, my eyes unable to look away.
“What do you mean, ‘especially from you’? What did I do to deserve such hostility?”
I gulped as a single image from the night before fluttered across my mind.
Him.
Me.
On the bed.
