Page 162 of Never Tell Lies

“Only you would dress in a three piece suit just to run an errand.” I stretched, moaning at the feel of my muscles waking up for the day. I sat up on my elbows and gave him a lazy grin. He returned with his own tight one. He looked stiff, nervous almost.

“What’s wrong? You look all…floopy.” I waved my hand at his general weirdness.

“Floopy isn’t a word, Lola.”

“It’s a state of mind, and you’ve got it.”

“I’m fine. Eat your breakfast.” He gestured to the night stand beside me and I noticed for the first time the chunky blueberry muffin sitting there. I scooped it up, broke off a piece, and popped it into my mouth, deciding to forget about his mood for now. His phone rang then and I listened to him work as I ate, brushed my teeth, and did what I could to fix my hair and face.

It didn’t escape my notice that the grey dress Alfie had slipped me out of before I crashed out last night had since been ripped down the middle and was now lying in two dejected pieces. He hung up the call and began swiping on his phone screen. I grabbed the bed sheet and wrapped it around myself, sidling up next to him. I glanced over his shoulder and found him scanning blueprints.

“What are those for?”

“A new build in Milan.” He swiped and the image changed from a blueprint to a 3D graphic of a hotel. To say it was impressive was an understatement.

“Is that where you’re going next?”

“It’s where I’m supposed to be already.” He gave me a small smile and eyed the bed sheet I was wrapped in. “That’s an interesting wardrobe choice.”

“Well, I didn’t bring any spare clothes and since the dress you insisted I wear yesterday is now ripped in two…”

“You need to wear some of the other clothes I bought for you; the clothes you hated?” It wasn’t like I had much of a choice, this was his doing, not mine. He slipped his gaze from mine, returning his attention to his phone. “Unfortunately, I had all of those clothes removed yesterday.”

“Oh. Well. I guess I really will be walking through the lobby in a towel,” I joked but he didn’t respond. I waited a moment more, then my patience ran out and I slapped the phone out of his hand. It landed with a soft thud on the thick carpet. “Okay, what’s going on with you?”

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “Lola, you’re about as subtle as a freight train.”

I folded my arms, trying to look serious but failing miserably with his bed sheet wrapped around my shoulders. “You’re scaring me, Alfie. Whenever you’re like this it’s because you’ve hurt me already and you’re about to hurt me more. Please tell me what’s going on.” His body was rigid, his shoulders stiff, and I mentally prepared myself for whatever was about to come.

“I’m nervous,” he said eventually. I raised my eyebrows and tried very hard not to smile. That was the last thing I’d expected him to say.

“You’re nervous? You, Alfie Tell, arrogant arse and conqueror of the world, are nervous?”

“Don’t laugh at me.” He scowled, his tone like venom. I drew back, shocked at his reaction to my poking a little fun.

“I’m not. I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I’m just surprised.” He eyed me for one long moment and I scoured his face, trying to figure out what had soured his mood overnight. He stood,running a hand through his hair before he turned to face me again.

“I know that you think I dismiss everything you say, but in truth, you have no idea how your words reach me, how they cut. You swarm my mind, O’Connell, ravaging my rules, confusing what I think I know with your new world view.” He paused, his steel greys running over my sheet-clad body. “Last night, I couldn’t sleep. I sat right there,” he pointed to the chaise-lounge, “holding that wretched dress, and I watched you as you slept. Everything that we’d fought about, everything you’d said to me, played over and over?—”

“Alfie, we already mended all of that,” I cut in but he just glossed straight over me.

“I kept thinking about yesterday morning, how unhappy you looked as you put on that dress and how you didn’t have anything else to wear today and would have to wear it again.”

“So you tore it up?” I asked, trying to figure out his logic.

“I don’t ever want to see you look like that again,” he said, his gaze dark.

“Like what?”

“Like me.” Pain flashed in his eyes as he spoke, pain at showing weakness, at admitting fault. I wanted to comfort him, to tell him he was being melodramatic, but he wasn’t.

He gave a decisive sigh and looked away from me. “There’s something for you in the walk-in.” He sounded like a man resigned to his fate and just that tone alone made me afraid of whatever was in that closet.

I pulled the bed sheet closer around me and, with a nerve I didn’t feel, I crossed the room and opened the closet doors.

As he’d said, all of my clothes were gone. Every stark, crisp item, every catwalk-worthy shoe, erased as if they’d never been. Alfie’s were still there, his costumes hanging in perfect precision along the rack, but my side was empty. I scanned the room andlanded on the chest of drawers at the end of the closet, and the black box and matching bag next to it.Harrodswas written in gold cursive along the lid and a black silk bow sealed the box shut. I fingered the delicate material, my heart pounding in my chest. I turned. He was standing in the doorway as if he was too afraid to cross the threshold.

“You went to Harrods this morning? All the way to London?”

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