Page 91 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

Leaning over his shoulder, she whispers, “Can we go?”

Khalohn doesn’t even look at her as he apologizes to the couple he was speaking to and stands to his feet. He bids them goodnight as he clasps his tuxedo jacket closed. Finally looking at Jessica, he reaches for her hand, and then they’re heading for the door.

A couple minutes later, in the back of the Maybach, Atzel merging into traffic, she asks, “Christina, the woman who was rude to you earlier?”

“What about her?”

“Did you recognize her?”

Khalohn frowns, shakes his head, and mutters, “Should I?”

Staring down in her lap, Jessica fidgets with her fingers as she asks, “Are you playing dumb because you don’t want to upset me? Or do you really not remember you had sex with her?”

As soon as the question is out of her mouth, she closes her eyes, as if bracing herself. Before Khalohn speaks, she feels his fingers wrapped around her chin, turning her face in his direction.

“Look at me,” he demands softly. She complies, certain she can’t ask for the truth and hide from it at the same time. “My sexual past cannot come as a surprise to you.”

“That’s not what I asked,” she whispers.

“Meeting her tonight, it was in a completely different context. No, I didn’t recognize her. Maybe that makes me an asshole—but I never made it my business to remember them. That wasn’t the point.”

Jessica nods as much as his grip will allow. She’s not sure what to say, and she expresses as much as she casts her gaze down her cheeks.

“Does that changethis?” he asks, releasing her chin.

Rather than spout the answer shewantsto be true, she pauses and honestly considers his question. The fact that he even asked is simply confirmation he’s not playing games with her. He’s being honest.

Isn’t he always?

He’s right. He’s never hidden himself from her. Given how they met, she’d be a fool to want to know how many women he’s slept with. Nonetheless, she can’t judge him for his past any more than he can judge her for hers.

A frown knitting her eyebrows together, she peers through the darkness into his eyes and replies, “Maybe it makes me a slut—but no. It doesn’t change this.”

“Precious, you are so far from a slut. I never want to hear you say that again,” he insists, grazing the back of his knuckles down her cheek. “Christina should never have approached you.”

“Yeah, well—she did more than that. She threatened me. Oryou. Or maybe both of us? I don’t know.”

“What’d she say?”

Jessica frees a sigh and then relays the entire bathroom exchange with him. When she’s finished, he sits silently for a moment, staring out the window.

“If she says anything to anyone, it’ll be a breach of contract. The consequences aren’t cheap. Beatrice saw to that.”

“I remember.”

Wrapping his fingers around hers, Khalohn brings her hand into his lap and instructs, “I don’t want you to worry about it, okay? I’ll handle it.”

Something about the way he says it puts her at ease. She’s sure when he says he’ll handle it, he will. Then she recalls she’s holding hands with the man who didn’t know her name but tracked her down and made her his anyway. Scooting closer to him, she rests her head against his shoulder and semi-repeats to herself:

No. Nothing could change this.

I’m giving in.

I’m holding on.

And I’m not letting go.

At seven-thirtyon Monday morning, Maribelle knocks on Khalohn’s office door before granting herself entrance, in order to deliver his breakfast. As she sets the tray on the far side of his desk, she greets, “Good morning, dear. It’s nice to have you back.”

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