Page 36 of His Deadly Lies

She did the decorating in the entire house and likes to change it every five years to keep things fresh. Sometimes living with her themes can be a bit of a struggle. Luckily for her daughters, Mom keeps her interior design to the main spaces of the house. Papa’s office, the boardroom, and our rooms are the only spaces that haven’t fallen beneath her experienced eye.

Italian ornate is fine, but not when it’s everywhere, all at once.

I reach out for the swatches in her hand, and she pauses, finally giving me her attention, staring at my robe until her pretty features twist in a scowl. “Mia. I told you to be ready by two. It’s one thirty-five! Your interview is in twenty minutes, and Ricardo will be here any minute!”

There is no one as excitable as my mother.

But—

“Interview?” I ask. “You told me to be ready, but you never said what we were doing.” Silly me, I assumed we would be going shopping for something. Which is why I’d wasted time hanging out with Isabella, as Mom is habitually late for everything in life.

“I know I told you.” She sounds flustered. “It’s a very important interview. Lifestyle Magazine is doing a feature piece on you for the engagement. You need to hurry up!” She tucks the fabric underneath her arm and gestures for me to get my ass in gear.

“That seems like the kind of thing I would have remembered.” A pit opens up in my stomach.

It’s not like our day cover is anything interesting enough to warrant an interview. How did Mom finagle this kind of thing, and why is she staring me down like she’s exasperated?

“Can you just get dressed, Mia, and stop arguing with me? Please!” She reaches down to the small fainting couch at the foot of the bed and throws a dress in a deep shade of moss green at me. “Just don’t be late. I expect you downstairs in five minutes. Okay?”

She points a finger between me and Isabella.

A warning.

Which is why I do haul ass and get dressed, slipping my feet into a pair of too-tight shoes with a heel I know Mom will approve of and somehow make it downstairs, Isabella trailing me, with thirty seconds to spare. It’s still thirty seconds of buffer time.

The first person I see is Carter, waiting in the shadowed wings of the living room, just far enough so that he’ll be skipped over visually but close enough to step in if necessary. His attention lands on me the moment I walk into the living room.

Mama must have made him come downstairs.

And there’s Ricardo on the couch with his arms stretched across the back and my mother standing nearby, looking anxiously at her watch.

I’ve done a thousand of these interviews, but today is a special occasion.

An interview with the new couple.

Mama set it up and burst into my room last night to tell me the good news. At least I had time to wrap my mind around it, to compose my thoughts. I know just how I want to play this, even if it is fucking inconvenient.

Especially with Carter watching me.

“I’m here.” At least I don’t sound out of breath. “Thank you for being patient with me.”

Mama points down to the empty spot beside Ricardo, and although the warning doesn't show on her face, the message is the same. Sit my ass down.

I cross slowly and fold myself down beneath the sheltered crook of his arm.

“You look lovely in that dress, Mia. It’s a wonderful color for you,” Ricardo begins smoothly. “Absolutely stunning.”

He’s got his hair slicked back away from his face like a Lothario of old.

“Thank you for the compliment,” I respond. “You look quite handsome yourself.” I tug on the lapel of his suit jacket, going for lovestruck.

Going for eager.

I feel none of those things. There isn’t a piece of me that feels anything toward him other than apprehension. Let’s hope he will be able to make it through this interview without muddying the waters.

At least he’s hot. It does help.

“Now that we’re all settled in, I’ll have someone show our reporter friend inside. I’ve had her wait in the parlor,” Mama says. “Seemed more professional.”

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