Page 17 of Liars and Liaisons

The lacy crimson panties in my pocket sear red-hot accusations into my thigh, and I curl my hands into fists, ignoring them.

“Then again, I didn’t sneak around with someone who’s off-limits.” He cocks his head to one side, arching a dark brow.

I stare back at him, unflinching. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay.” He shrugs, setting the guitar at his feet. “But you do know last night was a televised, photographed event, right? News crews, a photographer fromVogue. The mayor of this island wentall outfor his cause.”

My gut sours, dread clawing at my organs, but I keep my features schooled.

Janus and Arsen would’ve had the bodies cleaned up before anyone could find them. That’s what I pay them to do. No one would’ve seen their drug-addled corpses, and if they did, I certainly wouldn’t be standing here, a free man.

The James family wouldn’t survive that large a scandal. Not all of us anyway. Not unless we played our cards just right.

“Just saying.” His face is relaxed, amused even. “I like to check event pictures and pick the best ones to send to Riley and my PR manager so they can upload them to their socials. Riley usually doesn’t until I get back because she likes to make me work for the attention.”

My eyes narrow. Is he blushing? Just at the thought of his little girlfriend?

I take a step in his direction. It should upset me more that my own family couldn’t pick me out at a masquerade party, but that’s not the primary pressing matter. “What did you—”

“Ah, my two favorite boys in the world!”

A knock on the door sounds at the same time a feminine voice clips lightly through the air, and I force a small smile onto my face as my mother and father enter. Her dark hair is pulled back at the base of her neck, her green eyes bright and crinkling at the corners.

She practically launches herself into my arms, and I catch her at the waist to keep from bowling over. My father hangs back, his face hard as granite, immersed in something on his phone. His right hand grips the twenty-four-karat gold goat head of a walking stick, and despite my best efforts, the sight of it makes my muscles stiffen.

I can still feel the blunt force of that goat striking my back, forcing me to my knees.

I’ve always wondered how he got the blood off it.

Sniffing, my mother pulls away, frowning as she gives me a once-over. “Jesus, Grayson, you reek like cheap booze. Are these the same clothes you had on last night?”

“You dragged me here and didn’t let me pack an overnight bag,” I reply in a monotonous voice. “Hotel soap and deodorant can only do so much.”

“Glad to see that mountain house has done absolutely nothing to improve your attitude.” She pinches my cheeks, then glances past me at Aiden. “And you, my darling boy, wereincrediblelast night. Your pitch was perfect, and your acoustic numbers almost brought the crowd to tears.” Pride beams from the corners of her mouth, and Aiden shifts his gaze down, as if unaccustomed to the praise. “How’s Calliope? New York? Your father?”

Aiden stands, slinging the Viper onto his shoulder and securing its purple strap across his chest. The upside-down Medusa tattoo on his right hand seems to ripple with the movement, winking beneath his silver rings.

He shrugs, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Mom’s fine, New York’s fine, Dad’s… well, he’s Harrison James. As long as he’s making money, nothing else really matters.”

There’s a slight bite of resentment dripping from his words, and I feel a tug of empathy in my stomach. I know better than anyone what it’s like to have a father who cares about his son as the talent more than his flesh and blood.

Even now, mine won’t pay me a lick of attention. Not since I’ve been squandering my social and professional lives by hiding out, refusing to do his bidding. I think he’d be happy if I went back to teach despite not having supported the career shift in the first place.

At least then, I wouldn’t be a massive blight on the James family name.

“Well, I’m sure that isn’t true.” My mother reaches for her stepgrandson, pulling him into her arms. He loops his around her shoulders, and I pretend not to notice how hard he hugs her back.

“When you’ve got an asset that makes as much money as you do for your father,” mine starts, finally deigning to look up from his phone, “you’ll understand why very little else matters, boy.”

I work my jaw as his eyes lift, dark pools of disappointment meeting mine.

The old fucker stares me down, his gray hair practically white in the hotel’s lighting. I wish I could walk over and deck him, just once—knock him to the ground, watch him stain the hardwood floor a deep blood red.

For what he did to me, growing up, and what he did to Sydney. What they all did to her.

But revenge like that can’t be rushed. It requires finesse and time, and I don’t have the luxury of either of those at the moment.

Right now, I just need to get home.

---