Page 23 of These White Lies
Her personal life may not technically be my business, but I’m not about to stand silently by and watch another woman destroyed by a controlling man.
Where did that come from?
Keith didn’t destroy you.
Though he certainly gave it his best try.
I shift my champagne glass to my left hand so I can offer Natalya my right, and squeeze her fingers lightly one more time.
“Congratulations again.” I have nothing else to say, and I want to get out of here.
“Thank you, Elizabeth.” Her voice is notably more subdued than it had been before her fiancé arrived.
I excuse myself, citing a need to mingle, but my actual plan is to make a quick lap, and get the hell out ofthis house.
Drifting toward the far side of the room, I snag a delicate pastry off a passing tray and another glass of champagne. I’m not driving, and after dealing with Carrow, I deserve the free bubbles. At least, the man has excellent taste in champagne.
From the corner of my eye, I glimpse Natalya furtively glancing over her shoulder before slipping through a door at the back of the room.
None of your business, I remind myself. Yet, I set down my glass and trail after the woman who clearly doesn’t want to be followed.
Beyond the door, I find a hallway lit significantly dimmer than the house. The music and laughter from the party are muted once the heavy door closes behind me. The lack of otherguests and low lighting makes it obvious that this area of the house is not intended for guests. I hesitate in the shadowed entry, an odd feeling of anticipation mixed with foreboding swirling through me.
Go back, Elizabeth. You don’t belong here.
Through the glass doors at the far end of the hall, I can see the night sky, and the distant glimmer of a swimming pool reflecting the moonlight.
A figure appears on the other side of the door, and I press myself back into a deep-set doorway, as flat as I can. The doorknob digs into my back, and I’m thankful that my black dress blends with the shadows. Intuitively, I know I shouldn’t let anyone see me.
The tall figure slips inside the exterior door, holding it so that it shuts silently. I can’t see his expression or his face clearly, but I recognize his confident swagger and the silhouette.
My stomach bottoms out.
What the hell is my ex-husband doing here?
Our divorce turned nasty when I discovered the affair I’d caught him in hadn’t been his first. Turns out he was a serial adulterer. To make matters worse, we were partners in our law firm, something I thought we had sacrificed and built together for the last several years. As our divorce attorneys sorted through the rubble of our marriage, arrangements had to be made to split the business, too.
And that—to use a pun from this evening—is when my ex-husband’s mask had completely come off.
Keith had apparently been laying the groundwork over the last few years to steal our clients, knowing that he ultimately planned to leave me for one of his wealthier girlfriends. He undermined our clients’ confidence in my abilities, so that when the split happened, more than half of our clients left with him.
My hands tremble with rage at the sight of him. If he’s here to poach Natalya, I might actually kill him.
Battling the instinct to charge over to where he is hovering at the other end of the long hallway, I stay perfectly still. Barely breathing.
There’s something wrong with this scene.
Keith isn’t wearing a mask, and he came in the back door. He might be an amoral, greedy bastard, but he’s not stupid. The second he walks into the party, it will be obvious he doesn’t belong.
A door near him opens, and I see his shoulders relax.
What is going on?
Natalya steps into view. The shimmery material of her silver skirt is easily picked up, even in this light. Before I realize what’s happening, Keith is pulling her into his arms for a full-on, passionate kiss.
My heart drops.
The piece of shit. And what isshethinking? At her own engagement party?
