Page 27 of An Eye For Illusion

He just made that lie up as he stumbled through it. It isn’t outlandish to think that scenario could happen, but I don’t believe him.

“Who? Anyone I would know?” I press him.

“I can’t tell you that. It’s my client.”

“You’re a broker dealer, Elliott, not an attorney or a doctor. Geez. I’m your fiancé, for heaven’s sake.”

Bridgette raises an eyebrow at me, and I mouth I know. He won’t spill the beans about the secret life he’s leading, but this is the closest I’ve been to some kind of clue in months.

He never gives me answers with any substance. Hell, for the past few weeks we’ve barely spoken. Tonight, however, he seems keen to play into my little game, and I’m all for it.

He remains silent, and my earlier hopes of getting him to talk more are dashed.

“Can I see you this week?” I soften myself a bit to reel him back in.

“I’ll do my best, but I’m not sure when I’ll be free. I have to go, okay?” He sounds stressed and rushed. I almost feel bad for him, but then I remember what’s at stake.

My freaking freedom and my father’s safety.

Any compassion I may have had for him was squashed the night he threatened the one person I would give up everything for.

“Okay.” Asshole.

“Love you. Bye, babe.”

He ends the call before I respond. I toss my phone beside me on the sofa. At least he didn’t call me snookums. I loathe when he calls me that. He didn’t even really give me the chance to say I love you back, though I wouldn’t have wanted to. I haven’t ever told him I love him. That should have been the first red flag for both of us.

I’d think a man would want the woman he plans to marry to tell him she loves him at least occasionally, but Moore has never questioned me or demanded I say it. This is an arrangement in the truest form, one that I desperately want out of.

“Well, that line of questioning certainly made him nervous,” Bridgette says as she sips her wine. Her face is a perfect illustration of concentration.

“Something is going on with him.” I slam my fist down hard onto the cushion. “I just wish I fucking knew what it is!”

“The PI will find something. You just need to give it time,” she says.

“I don’t have time. That’s why I need to get something going on my end. Every day this damn wedding draws closer, the more I start to break out in anxious hives.”

I grab the bottle of wine from the coffee table in front of us and refill my glass.

“I understand why you want to push this along, but what if it backfires on you? We don’t know what he’s up to, and it could be dangerous,” Bridge scolds.

“The damn PI hasn’t found anything yet, and he followed Elliott and me to dinner the other night. What the hell does he think he’s going to get from us having dinner together?”

My frustration grows deeper day by day. The fact that I can’t get Colin calling me beautiful out of my head doesn’t help. It plays on a damn loop, over and over, until my panties are soaked, and I’m ready to punch him or crawl onto his lap to devour him.

At any given moment, it’s a toss-up on which emotion I feel.

She furrows her brow as she takes in the expression on my face. Suddenly, a goofy grin slides across her face. “Maybe he just wanted to see you all dolled up.”

I groan. “Not a chance…and ew. He’s not my type.” I wrinkle my nose, thinking of his cocky demeanor…

…and chiseled jawline.

I slap my hands on my thighs. “That’s enough of that talk. Colin is working for me, nothing more. Even if I were interested, and I’m not, I wouldn’t entertain it. I’m more professional than that.”

“Hmmm, I see.” Bridgette turns up the wineglass again as I pick up the remote, hoping to find a new movie to watch as a distraction.

“Have you ever told him you love him?” she asks after a few minutes of silence.

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