Page 9 of Cunning Lies
“Absolutely,” Kenzo says.
He grabs two glasses and hands one to me. I shrink under my shoulders. I don’t really drink; I’m the epitome of a lightweight. At twenty-five, I’ve only had alcohol around Uncle Jay and Patrick, and I always pass out quickly. I’ve never had champagne, and this isn’t the time or the place to pass out.
Kenzo must have read my face because he puts an arm around my shoulder. I tense, but his deep laughter puts me at ease. My thighs clench together.
“Relax,” he says. “Drink it slowly. You’ll be fine.”
“People keep saying that I’ll be fine,” I mumble. “It’s almost like they know Iwon’tbe okay.”
He laughs a deep,reallaugh, and I swear my stomach doesn’t know up from down anymore. I blink up at him. What’s so funny?
“Nothing’s going to happen to you, Vi,” he says. “Don’t worry. You’re with me.” He clinks our flutes together. “Kanpai.”
“Cheers,” I say.
I take a sip, and the sweet, bubbly taste fizzes to my cheeks. I’m rosy already, and with this dress and the alcohol, it’s only going to get worse.
But I take another big sip. It is liquid courage, after all.
“Screw it,” I say, then I down the rest.
Kenzo’s jaw drops slightly. “All right, then.”
The bubbles float to my head, and with his words and the champagne, it’s like I’m walking on clouds. Several people come up to us, and I bob my head, pretending like I know what they’re talking about. Kenzo introduces me, and I pretend to be his date. Not a hostage.
But after a while, we’re alone again, and Kenzo pulls me around to face him.
“How many exits do you see?” he asks.
I wrinkle my nose. Usually, I like checking for escape routes, but once I got into the car with Kenzo, I figured I was committed to the evening.
I lean forward. “Excuse me?”
He quickly motions around the room. “Eight on the stage side. What about the entrance?”
I count. “Maybe another eight? More?”
“Keep an eye on them. That way, you’ll always be ready.” He squeezes my shoulder, and my neck tingles. It’s almost like he’s warning me that I’ll have to run tonight. Maybe he expects an enemy to attack us. That probably happens in the mafia.
But more likely, I’ll be running fromhim.I don’t know any of these people, but I knowKenzois from the yakuza.
“Which exit will you take?” he asks.
His confidence is distracting—relaxed shoulders, a charming smile, his lips open and wet. It’s like he knows that if I run, it’ll only be becausehe wants me to.
“I wasn’t aware I had a choice,” I say.
Did that come out of my mouth?I smack a hand to my face, but he grins down at me, amused by my outburst.
“There’s always a choice, Vivian,” he says. And I die a little inside. No one calls me that anymore. Not since my parents died.
“Not when you cut off my uncle’s finger,” I whisper. But then I hit my hand against my forehead and slosh my second glass of champagne on the carpet. Apparently, Ididn’tneed that second glass. “Don’t worry. It’s fine,” I whisper. “I get it. He crossed a line, so he had to pay.”
“What do you want?” he asks.
My heart stops. I blink at him. It’s a simple question, but it’s complicated coming from him. His brown eyes are rich, drinking me in like a glass of whisky, and I’m entranced. He’s masculine and authoritative, but his eyes gleam, and it’s almost like he’s curious. Like he’s actually considering me as a wife. Images of glamorous fabric and masculine hands swirl in my mind, and for a split second, I imagine Kenzo throwing me down on the floor. Right here. In a room full of people.
I shake my head. I’ve never trulylikedsex, but I’ve also never really been around anyone else besides Uncle Jay and Patrick. Whenever I had crushes, they always stomped those out before I had to experience the reality of other men.
