Page 86 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

Khalohn stares at her silently before replying with slight dip of his chin.

“I was planning on coming back here after, if that’s okay.”

A slight scowl causes a crease between his eyebrows as he lifts a hand from his lap and takes hold of her waist. Squeezing her gently, he mutters, “Why wouldn’t that be okay?”

She hesitates to respond. When she does, it’s not in the way Khalohn expects. The instant her lips press against his, the scowl tugging at his brow lifts, as does his unoccupied hand, which finds its way into her hair. He follows her lead, allowing her to express what she must. At the first tease of her tongue, he takes over. Her faint whimper is all the assurance he needs that she doesn’t object. It’s not long before she’s in his lap, her arms locked around the back of his neck, her tongue tangled with his.

When she pulls away, she does so abruptly before pressing her soft cheek to his smooth one. He can feel her rapid breaths at his ear as she blindly lifts a hand to hold the opposite side of his face. Half distracted by the erection, not the least bit concealed with her pressed against it, he almost misses the significance of her touch. Then her thumb grazes back and forth across his cheek as she presses her own closer.

“I see you, too,” she whispers, a slight tremble in her voice. “I’m giving in. I’m holding on. I’m yours, Khalohn. I think I always have been.”

He doesn’t get a chance to respond. She brushes a feather soft kiss against his jaw, and then she’s gone.

An hour later,as Jessica emerges from the 36thStreet Station, she does so mindlessly. Just as she told Khalohn she would, as she traveled from one borough to another, she let herself get lost along the way. The numbing sensation that accompanies her escape is welcome, and she clings to it until she’s on the sidewalk just outside the diner. Her feet slow to a halt when she looks through the window and spots Stefano sitting alone in a booth for two. The sight of him is like a shot of reality injected directly to the vein.

He looks different in the light of day, but those are just details. His long, dark locks are pulled back into a careful twist at the nape of his neck, allowing her an unobstructed view of his elegant profile. He’s dressed down in a pair of black, holey, skinny jeans, a t-shirt, and a distressed jean jacket she’s sure is designer. It fits his lean frame perfectly. He takes a sip of his coffee, and then—as if he can feel her—he turns and spots her standing. Staring. His hazel eyes lock with hers, and she’s taken back to that night.

The night it all began.

The beginning of the end.

She hardly notices when he jumps up to come outside. Her vision grows blurry as the whirlwind of the last several weeks flashes before her eyes. When Stefano folds her in his arms, she sucks in a strangled breath, breathing in the familiarity of Bleu de Chanel wafting from his skin. A sob clogs her throat as she grips hold of the sides of his jacket. She holds on tight as she accepts the truth; as she accepts the point at which she finds herself. She’s come full circle. She’s hit the bottom. Now her only option is to climb her way out. To fight. To survive. To solider on—like she always has.

Sucking in a breath through her nose, she shoves Stefano away from her, lifting her gaze to stare into his eyes.

“Dove,” he murmurs, resting his hands on her shoulders.

She jerks her head in a sharp shake. “Coffee,” she manages.

A ghost of a smile softens the worry in his eyes as he cups her face and wipes away her tears. Without a word, he carefully detaches one of her hands from his jacket, wraps his fingers around hers, and leads her inside. After they fill the booth, he waits until she’s got coffee in front of her before he speaks.

“Talk to me, Jess.”

Jessica takes a slow sip of her hot beverage. Staring into it, she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“He paid mom’s hospital bill.”

“What?”

Peeking up at Stefano through her lashes, she replies, “Yeah. And he won’t hear of me paying him back for that or the funeral.”

His face scrunched in a frown, he scoffs, “I don’t—I don’t know what to say.”

“I know you don’t trust him.” Jessica watches as Stefano’s spine straightens. He opens his mouth to speak, but she beats him to it. “You don’t have to say the words, Huey. You’re my best friend. I know. I also know—I know you’ve known him longer than me, in a very different capacity. To you, he’s a man with money who sleeps around.”

“A lot,” he interjects. “With a fee.”

“Yeah,” she whispers with a nod. “But then he met me.”

“Jess—”

“I get it, why you think it’s not real. I do. And I don’t blame you. But you don’t know him like I do.”

“Fuck,” he breaths. His brow dips as concern weighs down his eyes. Stefano leans across the table, resting his hands over hers as he says, “Dove, I don’t mean to be a dick, but you’re in a really vulnerable spot right now. He swoops in, throws his money, and—”

“Huey, it’s not like that.”

“Jessica, I can’t. I can’t see you get hurt because of him. It was me who put you in his path, and—if he hurts you? With everything you’re going through? I just can’t let that happen.”

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