Chapter 2

They stood in a side corridor of the private club my family used for business dinners.

Chloe was smiling up at Adrian. She had always smiled brightest when she believed she was taking something from me.

I stopped before they saw me.

Adrian had known for years that Chloe and I were not close. I had told him plainly that she had spent most of her life competing with me—clothes, friends, attention, anything she could turn into a contest. He had always treated her with distant courtesy, and she had hated that she couldn't charm him.

Apparently, that had changed.

I moved closer, staying behind the corner.

"You won't give her a good experience," Chloe said with absolute confidence. "You'll ruin the image she has of you."

Adrian leaned against the wall, his head lowered.

"I know my sister," Chloe continued. "She'll judge you. She might dump you on the spot."

He said nothing.

"Brother-in-law, you probably don't even know how to talk dirty to her. No romance, no imagination. I don't know how she's put up with you this long."

His fingers flexed at his side.

Chloe waited, enjoying the silence. "She's told you you're a bad kisser, hasn't she?"

That was a lie. I had never said any such thing.

At last Adrian raised his head. "What am I supposed to do?"

The question hurt more than I expected.

He could have asked me.

I was the woman he claimed to love. I was standing one corridor away, ready to tell him I wanted honesty, not expertise.

Instead, he asked Chloe.

"Easy," she said. "You did fine talking to my friend last night. Keep practicing with her."

My pulse hammered at my temples.

Adrian was quiet for so long that I held my breath.

Then he said, "All right."

Chloe's smile widened. "And don't tell Evie. If she finds out, our whole plan falls apart. More importantly, so does your relationship."

Adrian pushed away from the wall. When he spoke again, his voice had returned to its usual cool register.

"I know."

He walked off without seeing me.

I remained behind the corner until Chloe left in the opposite direction.

There were a dozen ways I could have stopped him. I could have stepped out, held up his journal, and demanded an explanation. I could have slapped Chloe. I could have called him a fool and told him exactly what I had wanted from him all along.

But the phrase don't tell Evie held me still.

This was no longer only about embarrassment. He had agreed to deceive me before he had done anything else.

I wanted to know whether he would choose honesty when he came home.

So I waited for him on the couch that night.

He paused inside the apartment when he saw me, then set down his keys and sat beside me.

"Why are you still awake?"

"Where were you? Who did you see?"

He put an arm around my waist and drew me closer. "I went to my parents' place. My grandfather's birthday is coming up. We were discussing the dinner."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

He hooked his little finger around mine, looking mildly puzzled by my questions.

The lie arrived without hesitation.

I leaned close enough to feel his breath. In the dim amber light, his lashes trembled. His ears began to redden.

"Evie," he murmured.

I breathed in. "You smell like Chloe's perfume."

His eyebrows drew together. "What are you talking about?"

"You heard me."

"I must have picked it up from someone at home."

Another lie.

I stared at him and felt something inside me pull tight.

He could blush because I was close enough to kiss him, yet lie to my face without blinking.

I shoved him back against the couch and climbed over him.

"Then let's do it," I said.

His eyes widened. When I reached for the buttons of his shirt, he caught my hands.

We froze in the same position we had reached too many times before—me offering, him stopping me.

"Don't you want me?" My voice came out rougher than I intended.

"Of course I do."

The answer was immediate. His mouth tightened as if he were fighting himself.

"Evie, I love you. Only you."

"Then why won't you sleep with me?"

His grip on my wrists tightened.

"Are you saving yourself for someone else?" I asked. "Or planning to learn from her first?"

"No." He cut me off. "Don't accuse me of that."

The unfairness of his offense nearly took my breath away.

I looked straight into his eyes. "Then listen carefully. I don't care if you're inexperienced. I don't care if the first time is awkward. We can learn together. The only thing I care about is loyalty—in your body and in your heart. Do you understand?"

His hands loosened. His fingertips hovered at my waist.

For one foolish second, relief rose in me. I thought I had finally reached him.

Then he pushed me gently but firmly aside.

"Not yet," he said, his voice low.

He stood and headed toward the bathroom. "I'm taking a shower."

I stayed where he had left me.

The water began to run.

He had rejected me so many times that I had learned to pretend it didn't matter. For a while, each refusal had sent me to a mirror. I had studied my body, my face, the way I touched him. I had wondered if desire disappeared when he looked at me, or if I was somehow asking wrong.

Eventually I stopped asking as often. Pride was easier than humiliation.

Now I knew he did want me. He was simply more willing to trust Chloe's judgment than my own words.

I picked up his phone from the coffee table.

He had added Chloe as a contact. Their message thread was empty.

Not new. Deleted.

He wasn't confused about whether he was hiding something. He knew he was.

I put the phone down, took my purse, and left while the shower was still running.