Page 79 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

The toilet is nestled between the enormous shower—with more nobs and spouts than she’s ever seen—and the double sink vanity. As she relieves herself, she can’t help but to stare at the huge, gorgeous tub across the room. Much like she can’t remember the last time she ate before Khalohn’s eggs, she can’t remember the last time she bathed. This is why, after she flushes and washes her hands, she strips herself naked and runs herself a tub of piping hot water.

When it’s full, she submerges herself completely, soaking her hair before she resurfaces. The water feels refreshing, but as she reclines in the tub and stares out the window into the sky, the promise of clean skin is swallowed up by sadness. As the minutes pass and the water cools, she acknowledges how life must go on; yet the thought of resuming life as normal hurts worse than she can explain.

She doesn’t notice Khalohn when he fills the doorway. When he glides his hand through the water, she realizes he’s there. Without saying a word, he unstops the tub, allowing the cool water to drain away as he refills her bath with heat. It’s a simple gesture, but she stares at him with tear filled eyes all the same.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispers.

He knows what she’s asking, but he takes the easy way out and replies, “You’ll catch a chill.”

She blinks, causing a couple tears to cascade down her cheeks before she murmurs, “Why?”

Khalohn sits on the edge of the tub, staring down at her naked body until he’s satisfied with the temperature of the water. He then stops up the tub, shuts off the faucet, and lifts his eyes to find hers once more. The pain he sees encircling her brown irises reminds him who he is and what he wants. He admits now’s not the time to play games.

“I think we both know this—you and me—it’s more complicated than a business deal.”

She stares at him, and he can read it in her eyes. Her doubt. Doubt he blames on himself. Doubt he planted four days ago, when he leveraged his position of power like an asshole. He regretted it then, just as he does now. He wants nothing more than to right that wrong. He owes her the truth. He owes it to the both of them.

“After our first night, I never should have paid a dime for you.”

Her lips part at his declaration, and the anguish on her face is only proof of how right he is.

“I knew then,” he goes on to say. “One dance, and I knew you were different. Then I tasted you.” He pauses, staring at her intently. “On our third night, when I finally sank inside of you—it was unquestionable.”

Jessica stares at him, more tears dripping from her chin into the water. Khalohn stands from the side of the tub, reaching for the back of his t-shirt as he does. He yanks the garment off, then rids himself of his shorts and his underwear before he reaches into the water for her hand. He tugs her until she’s sitting upright, then eases his way into the tub, situating himself behind her. When he wraps his arms around her waist, she doesn’t resist him, but reclines against his chest, turning her head until her forehead is resting against the base of his neck.

Giving her a squeeze, he tells her, “You’re priceless. Undeniably priceless. Never should have paid a dime for you, Jessica. I know that now.”

Her shoulders jerk with her silent sob, and he tightens his grip around her. It takes her a few minutes to calm down. When she does, Khalohn asks, “Will you tell me about her?”

Jessica seals her eyes closed tight, squeezing out a few more tears as she swallows the knot in her throat. All the while, she focuses on the warmth burning in her chest. This is the first personal question he’s ever asked her—and it’s the perfect question.

She tilts her head back, until her lips are grazing the skin beneath his jaw, along the edge of his beard, hoping to memorize every detail of this moment. For in this moment, it’s confirmed that whatever it is they have—the weeks they’ve spent together—it wasn’t all fantasy. Parts of it were real. Real enough to lead to this moment. Real enough that at his question, she knows she can trust him with the truth. So, she gives it to him. All of it, sparing not one ounce of love for the woman she’ll carry in her heart forever.

“She was the best—” A knot lodges itself in her throat, and she presses into Khalohn as she fights a sob. His arms circle around her tighter, and through her tears she manages to begin again. “She was the best woman I’ve ever known. Strong. Determined. So damn beautiful…” As the words pour from her lips, she begins to relax in Khalohn’s hold, a couple pieces of her shattered heart finding their way back home.

“Didn’t know her, precious,” he whispers when she goes quiet, “but I owe her a debt.”

“What?”

“Without her—everything she was, everything she taught you—I’d never have met you.”

Jessica sucks in a breath, startled by his words.

Before she can fully sink into the truth of his statement, he starts to stand, bringing her with him. “Shower,” he insists, holding her hand as he encourages her out of the tub. “When we’re done, I’ll order lunch.”

“I’m not—”

“Lunch, precious,” he says, his lips pressed to her temple. “Whatever you want.”

She doesn’t know if it’s the gentle way he delivers his nonnegotiable command, the tender way he kisses her head, or the way he squeezes her waist while he does both—but the warmth in her chest continues to funnel through her veins, and she can’t find it in herself to refuse him.

Beth’s memorial servicewas beautiful. It was held at a Catholic church in Brooklyn, not too far from where she was laid to rest. The alter was adorned in an array of flowers, Jackie read the perfect eulogy, and when she was finished, the choir sang from the balcony. Jessica and Beth weren’t particularly religious. When Khalohn asked her—one of only three questions he asked in order to pull off the service—she told him the truth. They were Catholic on Christmas and Easter, which meant she’d been to a handful of masses throughout the course of her life; but none as perfect as this one.

Khalohn’s driver brought them to the church. Jessica, wearing the black dress Stefano brought with the bag of clothes he dropped by on Sunday, held Khalohn’s hand as he escorted her inside to the front pew. He didn’t sit with her. He took a seat a few rows back, leaving her sandwiched between Stefano and Jackie, who each held one of her hands throughout the service. It wasn’t until after it was all over; after the silent tears, the long hugs goodbye, and the promises to speak soon, that it hit her.

As she sits silently in the back of his Maybach, staring out the window unseeingly, Jessica thinks back over the last few days. She’s barely had to lift a finger. Khalohn has seen to just about everything. Even the things she didn’t know needed to be handled were handled. Then, rather than sit by her side during the service—rather than being front and center at the funeral he arranged and paid for—he gave her what she needed.

I needed my best friend. I needed my mom’s best friend. I needed her life to be celebrated in the most beautiful way imaginable because she deserved it—and he gave that to me. He gave that to mom.

---