Page 79 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
“No, what?”
“No, you do not get to ask me for favors when—after knowing you for how many years?”
Knowing where this is going, I mumble sheepishly, “Eight.”
“When after knowing you for eight looong years, and being your best friend for the entirety of that time, you choose to keep the fact that you have a child a secret.”
I look down, fiddling with the stem of my martini glass. I say quietly, “Had a child.”
“Excuse me?”
I glance up at Darcy. “I had a child. Past tense. I gave her up for adoption when she was born.”
Darcy blinks. “You said you were going to see your daughter.”
“And I did.”
After a moment, Darcy prompts, “Are you going to elaborate on that, or am I going to have to kick your Armani-clad ass?”
So, because she really is my best friend, the cat’s already out of the bag, I’m on my second martini, and I need her help to put a curse on Parker, I tell her the whole story, beginning to end, not leaving anything out. It takes another two rounds of drinks for me to get through it all.
At the end of it, she’s staring at me in with her mouth hanging open, speechless.
Finally, sounding awed, disturbed, and unusually somber, she says, “Holy shit, girl. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything so depressing.”
I take a long, deep slug of my martini.
“So…basically you’ve lived your life since you were eighteen as a different person? Different name, made-up history, new face, everything? No one knows the real you?”
I shrug.
“Gawd. It’s like you’re in the witness protection program.”
“Only with a lot more money.”
Her laugh is shaky. “Damn. I can’t even imagine how lonely you must be.”
That stops me cold. “I’m not lonely.”
Her big, dark eyes unblinking, Darcy looks at me long and hard. “Don’t get so comfortable with your own lies that you start believing them.”
The waiter comes and asks us if we want another round. We both decline. He leaves us and we sit in silence for a few minutes, listening to the sound of laughter and chatter around us. Sirens pierce the night, drifting up from the street far below like the wailing of mourners. Over and over, I push away the word that’s scratching at the inside of my skull.
Lonely.
Darcy says, “I’m sorry about your little brother.”
My throat gets tight. “Thanks.”
“What was it—his illness? What did he die of?”
“Muscular dystrophy.”
Because she can see that the turn in conversation is hitting me hard, Darcy takes pity on me. “All right. Look here. I’m only gonna say this one thing, and then we’ll let it go.”
When she reaches across the table and takes my hand, I look at her, startled.
“I’m here anytime you need me. To talk, whatever; I’ve got your back. You know I won’t say a word to anyone about this. But now that I know why you are the way you are, what happened to make you so closed off, I think you should seriously reconsider this plan of yours for revenge. Maybe Parker came back into your life for a reason, V. Maybe if you told him—”
