Page 46 of Liars and Liaisons

He rests his head on the lip of the tub, closing his eyes. “I find this life to be incredibly exhausting.”

“Even though you’re not working?”

“That’s precisely what does it. My work, my music… it’s my entire life. Creating, perfecting, erasing, and reinventing until everything is just right. I’m one of the lucky bastards who gets to monetize what others consider only a hobby. Only, right now, I can’t do any of it. It’sallI want to do, and I can’t make sense of the notes or melodies anymore. Harmonies sound wrong, rifts are out of place… I spend all of my time trying to work out the kinks in my head, and that, Little Echo, isexhausting.”

It’s weirdly honest, and I sit with the weight of his words for a long while, wondering why he’s chosen now to reveal them to me. It’s as if he pulled back the curtain protecting his soul, just enough to let me peek inside. Maybe I should feel a little empathy or something like it, but all the sentiment does is confuse me more.

I can’t figure him out, and what’s terrifying about that is that I want to.

Silence fills the bathroom, traveling like wisps of soft wind to the vaulted ceiling. This is one of the few rooms in the mansion without a wall of windows, and I didn’t realize how accustomed I’d become to the constant view of nature until now. Not even the washed petals floating around the essential oil–enhanced water can ground me as tension knots in my stomach and the silence becomes an unbearable white noise.

Swallowing, I scoot away from his leg. My left side collides with the opposite one, and I grit my teeth against the sensation of being completely surrounded.

After a while, it becomes entirely too much.

“Do you ever think about that night?” I blurt the first thought that comes to mind and immediately wish I could die.

His eyes are still closed, and he doesn’t move, but his answer is instantaneous. “Every second of every day.”

My mouth dries up. “What?”

“It can’t come as a surprise to you that I’ve thought of very little else since.”

Air constricts in my lungs, and I shift, moving my arms so my knees are covering my breasts. I stare at the water, the rose petals drifting slowly in circles, and try my best to remember.

All I get are bits here and there—like soft, guttural sounds of pleasure rippling through the room. They taunt me, pressing in and around, as if trying to wring similar noises from me. Rough, callous prints covering me in places I’ve only let a few others venture before.

They didn’t feel like this though. Like having his hand between my thighs, scrubbing over my nipples, clutching my throat, or palming my back is something absolutely vital to my being. I crave the sensation of fire and fury he leaves behind, arching into each touch like I’m afraid it’ll never be this way again.

But I can’t put faces to the scenes. I can’t remember what the actual deed felt like or what happened leading up and after. It’s like the memories are there but submerged under ice, and I have to wait for them to thaw out.

“I don’t…” I start, shame scalding my cheeks and making me hesitate. “I don’t remember it.”

Now, he does open his eyes. For a few seconds, he stares at the ceiling, then lifts his chin. “Nothing at all?”

I shake my head, taking a rose petal and crumpling it into my palm.

Tension mounts between us the longer he studies me. I can’t help wondering what he sees—if it’s the same thing his brother saw or something completely different.

Nate was easy. We met at some political event in Boston a few months ago, and since Alistair happened to know him from some humanitarian work they’d both done years back, he introduced us. Conversation flowed effortlessly, he was handsome, and it felt… nice. Being the center of someone’s attention and not having to work for any of it.

After such a long time spent wandering, practically homeless and unable to visit family, having the an attractive, important man be into me was like hitting the jackpot. We clicked, and our relationship just sort of slotted into place.

It was easy, and I wanted that.

And then he found out about Kal, and the dynamic shifted. Crumbled really.

Eventually, easy wasn’t good enough. Not compared to the harm my brother could inflict.

“I know I wasn’t drunk. But for some reason, when I think back, I can only remember certain feelings. Nothing concrete or whole. It’s this chunk of time that’s completely missing from my brain, like there’s a hole in my head where the memories have just fallen out.”

Maybe if I could remember, I’d feel worse about betraying Nate.

Grayson brings one of his hands to his mouth. He rubs his thumb across his bottom lip, staring at me with hooded eyes. “Do you want a refresher?”

My eyes go wide, and I sputter, “Excuse me?”

“It could trigger the memories.”

---