Page 51 of Knot So Fast
I have to calm my racing heartbeat, the reality of how closely they're monitoring me hitting home with uncomfortable clarity. It makes me wonder if they have a tracker on my phone or my car—hell, maybe even in my jewelry for all I know.
But I keep that paranoid thought to myself, focusing instead on selling this lie with every ounce of conviction I can muster.
"I understand," I say softly, playing up the dutiful daughter angle. "And I appreciate your concern, really. I'm fine, just needed some girl time with Wren. You know how she always makes me feel better when I'm stressed."
"Alright," my father says finally, though he doesn't sound entirely convinced. "You can stay at Wren's tonight. But we'd like you back for lunch tomorrow so we can have a family brunch. The three of us haven't had quality time together in too long."
"Of course," I agree immediately, knowing that pushing back would only increase their suspicion. "That sounds lovely. I'll be there by noon."
"Eleven-thirty," my mother corrects, because god forbid we eat at a normal time like regular people.
"Eleven-thirty," I confirm, already dreading whatever orchestrated conversation about my future they're planning to ambush me with over eggs Benedict and mimosas.
"Thank you for being so concerned about my wellbeing," I add, laying it on thick because sometimes the best defense is an emotional offense. "It means a lot to know you care so much. I love you both."
"We love you too, sweetheart," my mother says, her voice softening slightly. "Sleep well."
When I finally hang up, I let out a breath so deep it feels like I've been holding it since I first saw my parents' names on the caller ID.
My hands are shaking slightly as I set the phone on the marble floor beside the tub, sliding it across to the far side where I can't reach it even if I wanted to. The last thing I need is to accidentally drop it in the water and make my lie about electrocution risks a horrible reality.
I sink lower into the bubbles, letting the hot water work on muscles I didn't realize were so tense until now. The bath is perfect—exactly the right temperature, with some kind of expensive bath oil that makes my skin feel silky and fills the air with a scent that's both calming and oddly familiar.
Lavender and something that makes me think of rain, speed, and?—
A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts, and I sink even further into the protective cover of bubbles as Lachlan's voice carries through the wood.
"You forgot your clothes and towels," he says, and I can hear the amusement in his tone.
I blush, grateful he can't see me.
"That wouldn't have been a big deal. I could have figured something out."
The door opens slightly, and he peers around it with a smirk that should be illegal.
"I don't mind you walking naked through our house, but I'm already on my last limbs here, and I wouldn't be able to ignore my instincts to that extent."
The word 'our' hits hard, but I don't have time to process it before the implication of the rest of his statement sinks in. My entire body flushes with heat that has nothing to do with the bath water.
"You're an ass," I tell him, sinking so low that the bubbles threaten to cover my nose. "A presumptuous, arrogant ass."
His smirk widens as he steps fully into the bathroom, setting the stack of clothing and towels on the counter with movements that are far too casual for the electricity crackling between us.
"I'm also right. And before you start throwing bath products at me, remember that I've seen everything already."
"Oh my god," I groan, covering my face with my hands. "Can we please not talk about things I can't remember? It's bad enough that I apparently have detailed opinions about your sexual prowess compared to your brother's without adding visual memories I can't access to the mix."
He chuckles, the sound low and rich and far too appealing.
"Wren has a big mouth."
"Wren has no filter," I correct, peering at him through my fingers. "Which is usually entertaining except when she's revealing my apparent sexcapades to the very person?—"
My phone rings again, the shrill tone cutting through whatever incredibly embarrassing thing I was about to say.
I groan, looking at where it sits well out of reach on the far side of the bathroom floor.
"I can't reach it," I admit reluctantly.
