Page 3 of King of Lies
I should have known. I should have run when I had the chance. I was never safe here. Not in this country, or in his castle, and I was absolutely never safe with Rhys.
“Stella!” I hear him shout. “Hen! Answer me!”
When the car comes to rest, only the last bits of the song can be heard through the car and I sing the last line. A fitting end to my tragic tale. A life where if something awful can happen it will, and the losses compound one on top of another. I should have stayed hidden in my quiet life all alone.
I had thought that he was my Prince Charming. That he was whisking me off to a fairytale life in a faraway land. But he’s not Prince Charming; Rhys Alexander is the king of lies.
“And so, it goes … And so, it goes.”
“Hen!” he screams one last time. Or more, I don’t know.
And then the blackness overwhelms me and I fade into nothing.
Just like before.
I am nothing …
Chapter 1
Girls like me
Ineed that book.
I reach, reach, reach but it’s no use. Sometimes being short is a real pain in the patoot. If only this ladder was just a little bit taller, then I could reach the one that I need because, of course, the mysterious internet order that came in just after my lunch break was for the newest Emma Hart book. I had said she needed to be lower, what woman could find it way up there? Obviously, romance in general should be where women can see them and grab them. But I digress.
I pull the ladder closer and climb all the way up but it’s no use. Maybe if I climb up onto the top rung… I carefully place my feet, in my TOMS flats, on each rung until I’m balanced like an acrobat with my arms over my head and still… nothing.
Crap. I’m going to have to stand on my tip toes. I gingerly lift up on my toes just like Madame Dumé, my ballet instructor when I was little, taught me to do and I can just barely touch the spine of the book.
I wiggle my fingers until I can pinch the width of it and slide it from the shelf. I did it.I did it!I can’t believe I did it! I want to dance and jump and shout, even though that’s not like me at all, but some victories must be celebrated. I shimmy my shoulders a bit, this is my end zone dance after all, but the ladder wobbles and I grab onto the shelf to stay my balance, dropping the book.
“Fuck,” a deep voice with a heavy accent says from below me.
Oh no. I didn’t know that anyone was there. The store was pretty quiet when I came back from lunch, so I didn’t think anything of it.
My uncle is always reminding me to be more aware of my surroundings, but honestly, why bother? My surroundings aren’t aware of me. Most days it’s like I’m a ghost, haunting around town, and not a real live human being. And as sad as that is, that’s exactly the way that I want it.
I chance a look down to see how mad the customer is, but when I do, I see the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on.
He’s tall, so tall that if I were standing on the ground, he’d tower over me. He has a head full of thick black hair with a slight wave to it that he’s meticulously styled and combed. Moss green eyes stare at me in a way that makes me feel like someone sees me—I mean really sees me—and a muscular body covered in what has to be a very expensive suit.
“Well?” he asks, and I realize that he not only does see me, he’s actually talking to me and then I let go of the shelf in surprise and fall from the ladder, which clatters to the floor.
I close my eyes tight because if the fall doesn’t kill me it’s really going to hurt. Uncle Paul always says to be more careful and it turns out that he was right on all counts. Just when I think I’m about to hit the ground, I land in a pair of strong arms and swoon.
“Bloody hell.”
I slowly blink my eyes open, doing what I’m sure is my impression of an owl. The tall, dark, and handsome stranger is holding me, gently cradled in his arms like a bride, like I’m special. My heart beats faster when he smiles at me, flashing his neat rows of perfect teeth. It’s almost enough to make me swoon again. Worse, it’s almost enough to make me think that this is my real life, my fairytale to grab hold of but it’s not. I gave up lying to myself a long time ago.
This is the kind of thing that happens in fairytales. This isn’t the kind of thing that happens to boring girls like me.
Chapter 2
This isn’t me
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. It feels as if all the air has been knocked out of my lungs.
“Don’t worry about it,” this stranger says casually, even though he’s still holding me in his arms like a bride. Like he’s some kind of handsome prince and I’m a damsel in distress. But that’s utterly ridiculous.
