Page 63 of Marry Lies
“It was…” he trails off. “Well, a potential client cancelled our meeting on Monday,” he tells me.
I arch a brow.Why is he telling me this?
“I’m sorry. Maybe you should start wearing a badge that says,Estelle Deveraux’s husbandso people stop canceling on you.”
It takes him a second for my words to sink in. And then…he smiles.
Genuinely.
“You know, that’s not a terrible idea. I only have you for a year. Might as well maximize the exposure and good reputation.”
I only have you for a year.
Something about the solemn way he says that mixed with his smile makes my heart pound against my ribs and my stomach drop with anticipatory excitement.
“Maybe we need to start making more appearances in public together. But that would entail spendingmore timetogether, buttercup,” I warn.
“Don’t call me that.”
I smirk as the chef brings the next course: chicken marsala. My stomach grumbles with appreciation as I dig in, cutting the succulent meat and quietly moaning with pleasure when the creamy, earthy sauce hits my tongue.
When I look up at Miles, he’s watching me with a rapt expression. For the second time in under a minute, my stomach swoops low at the way his eyes watch my lips as I chew.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying the food,” he says quickly, slicing through the tender chicken. “And I agree. Maybe we should go out to dinner next Saturday evening.”
I nod. “We should. We could make a few calls to make sure we’re photographed.”
His fork stills and he stares at me. “You know, that’s not a terrible idea.”
Shrugging, I set my cutlery on the side of my plate as I use the serviette to wipe my mouth.
“I could talk you up, and the paparazzi could take some more pictures where youdon’tlook like you’re receiving a fucking enema—”
“On second thought, with that language, I’m not sure I could win them over,” he teases.
I bat my lashes and give him a sultry smile. “I can win anyone over, Miles,” I tell him, twisting my lips to the side.
He clears his throat and sets his cutlery down, and I swear I see a faint blush painting his sharp cheekbones.Hmm.“Very well. Saturday evening then.”
We eat in silence after that. I’m just about to bring up the notion that we need to practice our physical chemistry beforehand when he steeples his hands and pins me with a serious gaze.
“I’ve been thinking…” he says slowly. He looks almost uncomfortable as he clears his throat one more time before continuing. “You were right earlier. I shouldn’t be so secretive. So I wanted to offer an olive branch.”
I stare at him in surprise. “Okay.”
He sets his serviette down on the side of his plate. “When I was thirteen, my brothers and I were camping. One of the nights we were out there, we left our campfire burning, and it was a particularly windy night.” He swallows and I sit up straighter, listening. “We were sharing a tent—all sort of cuddled up under one blanket to stay warm. I’m a heavy sleeper, so I didn’t smell the smoke until it was too late.” He pauses and closes his eyes briefly. “Orion was closest to the flames. He was only five at the time. He started screaming, and Liam woke Chase and Malakai up. The zipper got caught, and I saw a spark land on the blanket near Orion.”
I study the way his expression is closed off—like he’s shuttering his mind against the memory of that night.
“Anyway, I threw myself on top of him to staunch the flames. I ended up with third degree burns over sixty percent of my body. I spent almost three months in the hospital, but even now, most of my torso, arms, and thighs are riddled with burn marks,” he finishes.
There’s a pensive shimmer in the shadow of his eyes, and my heart clenches at his story.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
“It’s quite…gruesome,” he adds. “The first woman I was with made a comment about it, and…” he trails off, clearing his throat. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know.”
“That’s horrible. I can’t believe someone would say that.” I place my hand on top of his. It twitches, almost like he’s unsure—like he wants to pull away.
