Page 85 of A Secret and a Lie
“Are you two even really married?”
Are we married?
To his credit, Ford simply slides his hand into mine as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, our palms caressing, like that willquell the intrusive inquisition. He steps closer to me, the scent of black pepper and tobacco overwhelming my senses.
Ford has a way of comforting me, supporting me, reminding me of my power without ever saying a word. It’s his presence, his aura, it’s…him.
He opens his mouth, his supple, pale-pink lips parting as he begins to speak. “Not that it’s—”
Operating on gut instinct, I turn to face Ford’s profile, my left hand gliding up to his jaw as I gently maneuver his neck so that his attention is wholly mine. The moment the pads of my fingers coast over his warm, smooth skin, my heart rate regulates, my central nervous system going quiet for the first time inweeks.
Our gazes lock, his gorgeous blue eyes glittering as brightly as the diamonds in my wedding band, the ring that’s perfectly positioned so every camera can capture the flawless stones that cast an iridescent halo around us. Leaning forward, I press my lips to his.
The world fades, the noise of cameras clicking and reporters shouting devolving into a dull murmur as if we’ve been plunged deep under water. His arm tightens around the small of my back, pulling me close, his tongue sliding inside my mouth as he deepens the kiss, seizing control. My body yields to his, allowing him to lead, and it feelssublime.
While this began as a kiss for the world, I wonder if maybe this was just for us.
Try as I might to fight it, my body craves the taste of submitting to him like an exquisite, rare wine, even if it landed me in prison the last time I took a bite of that deliciously forbidden fruit. As if I’m under the spell of a god, I’m desperate to worship him from my knees and do as he commands. But if he’s a god, that means I’m a goddess.
I need to remember that.
My hand falls away from Ford’s face, and I blink, clearing the daze as the bubble we’ve been encapsulated in finally bursts. Shouted questions batter against my senses, and I long to be back in the sphere of tranquility and protection I felt when I was lost in Ford.
I force a pleasant smile, my hand still clutched in Ford’s.
“As you can see, my client is innocent and requests privacy as she reconnects with her husband now that the court has reunited them,” Stafford announces.
The moment he’s done speaking, Marcus’s huge frame tapes itself to my side as his security team navigates the buzzing crowd. When we reach the sidewalk, James is there, holding the door to the backseat open for us. Corinne slips in first, and I follow as Ford takes the last seat.
Once Marcus climbs into the front passenger seat, James pulls into traffic. The silence within the car is louder than the roar of my inner thoughts while I rotted alone within the concrete walls of prison. I swallow hard, staring out the windshield as various colors and shapes pass us by in the form of cars and towering buildings.
A hand slides into mine, this time dainty and soft, and I clutch tightly to Corinne, hoping to press a lifetime worth of gratitude and love into the gesture. She squeezes back, and it’s like the strands of our friendship are reinforced now that we’re together again.
Eventually, we pull up in front of Ford’s building, and I take stock of the overwhelming amount of security and the crowd gathered behind a police barricade.Great.
“Ford and I put together a team that will be here around the clock. No one will be inside the penthouse but our inner circle,” Marcus explains once we’re inside the foyer, and I nod.
Just how cozy did my friends get with Ford while I was locked away?
My eyebrows crinkle as Marcus calls for the elevator once more, and I ask, “Are you not staying?”
Corinne smiles, her face alight with the joy I missed most while imprisoned. “We thought you might want to take the rest of the day for yourself. We can meet up tomorrow.”
With that, they disappear into the elevator car, the matte black doors drifting closed, leaving me alone with the alpha wolf that bit me.
Genevieve
The metal spoon scrapes against the side of the ceramic bowl as I swirl the cheesy, oniony goodness around. I haven’t even touched the grilled meat and vegetables on my plate. I don’t lift the next bite to my mouth, instead I let the utensil fall from my grasp with an abrasive clatter.
Staring at the crispy piece of baguette, I consider dragging it through the hearty soup, but refrain. For some reason, it bothers me that he remembered my favorite food, like he’s trying to prove he’s still the man whose messages lit my blood on fire. Rationally, I know he’s probably attempting to make me feelat homeor some shit. Nonetheless, this meal is tasting sour.
The worst part is that this is the best French onion soup I’ve had in fourteen fucking years, and it’s wasted. When I got back from Amsterdam, the restaurant in The District with the best soup had closed and nothing I’ve had since has compared. It’s frustrating as hell that today would be the day that’s changed for me.
Reaching for my downright filthy martini—my second of the night, and probably not my last—I take a sip, the brine lingering on my tongue after I’ve swallowed. Then, I take another gulp.
Ford’s blue eyes drill into the side of my face from where he sits at the head of the table, but I ignore him.
I spent the day getting my hair dyed back to blonde to cover myonyx roots, as well as enjoying a manicure and pedicure. I also went for a four-mile run on the treadmill in Ford’s state-of-the-art gym.
