Page 75 of Lessons in Faking
I couldn’t explain the pressure behind my eyes. Guilt, maybe, for not having noticed sooner? Causing her enough pain that she had to distance herself? Or perhaps I was just happy she’d found someone who made her smile the way she was now—absentmindedly and beyond her control. I didn’t want to think about the guy who mademesmile like that, but I did.
“It took me weeks to realize Laila saying she could relate meant that she liked girls. That she could like me. That when she looked at me, laughed at menotlaughing, calledand texted, it could be more than just pity and worry for a new friend.” Also unlike Wren—who was usually putting two and two together before it could even turn into four.
“So now you’re...?”
“Dating. I guess.” Wren shrugged. “No labels. I don’t want to be, like, too much—”
I gasped again. “Wren Inkwood! Is that you, overthinking? I never thought I’d see the day!”
She bumped my shoulder hard, but I could see the smile on her face and I could feel the one on mine, threatening to tear my cheeks in half.
The doorbell rang before I could ask more questions. So many of them. Wren hopped off the couch with the agility of a top athlete, probably just glad she could escape my cross-examination, then buzzed the downstairs entrance open, not even asking who it was.
“Expecting anyone?”
“Not unless Prem’s taking orders telepathically now. I was about to order when I saw you pull up... Yes, I was watching the street from our window like a creep. Do not comment on it.”
I only managed to ask one of the questions still swirling in my head. Undoubtedly, it was the most important one. “Are we good, Wren? Seriously and honestly good?”
“If you can forgive me?”
I laughed at the absurdity of her words. If I could forgivewhat? Her having a crush on her best friend? Taking the time she needed to get over it? Making sure I wouldn’t be alone over Thanksgiving?
I nodded. “Of course.”
Wren smiled, relief written all over her when she opened the door. My face fell at who she revealed.
Henry’s frame filled the doorway, and his eyes found mine in a heartbeat. He didn’t wait to be asked in, pushing past Wren with an infuriating sense of purpose.
“Henry—” stuttered out of me; I was immediately on high alert. Stood up.
He seethed as he made his way over, stopping only a foot in front of me. “One day I think I might kill you, Athalia.” With the way he sounded, I wouldn’t doubt it.
The icy cold of his voice made an uneasy feeling crawl down my neck, and the gleam in his usually warm green eyes only made it worse.
“You’re just sitting around. Enjoying a nice conversation with your friend. Probably waiting for takeout. Or about to order some?” His eyes scanned the room to check whether his guess was correct. I wondered how he alwaysjust knew. “While your brother thinks you’re lying in a ditch somewhere!” I flinched when his voice turned into a roar, sounding angrier than I’d ever heard. “I’ve called the police twice now. Crying on the fucking line about how my sister’s been kidnapped. And here you are.” Henry’s eyes snapped back to mine. The ache in my chest doubled.
I’d felt bad reading his texts earlier, but this was something else entirely.
There was a different kind of vulnerability in his words, his voice. The way he looked at me suggested that there had never been any malice between us untilIdecided toleave without telling him—as if he hadn’t been ignoring me for the past seven years, and this was the first time he seemed to care at all.
He didn’t let me get a word in. Just kept ranting and rambling and getting as much off his chest as he’d shared with me since their deaths.
“Getting out of McCarthy’s fucking car, of all things.”
I wondered if he’d just so happened to be looking out of his window across the street. Or if he’d been watching my building, hoping I’d come back. And I wondered just how much worse that made the situation for him—me getting out of Dylan’s car.
My chest rose and fell heavily; I was unsure what to do, what to say. I just stood there, dumbfounded and guilt ridden.
“And you’re fine.” Again, he gestured to me, faking joy in his voice before his head snapped to Wren. “She’s fine.” He nodded in my direction when he looked at her, as if he had to confirm it to himself.
“You could’ve texted Wren to check on me.” I think I short-circuited again when those words shot out of my mouth. I wouldn’t otherwise be dumb enough to accuse him of not doing enough when I was clearly in the wrong. But the way Wren looked at him—like she was about to physically fight the guy, despite their glaring height difference—I was sure I’d wake up to a kitchen full of cakes and muffins. I had enough to sort out with my brother as it was; I didn’t need the two of them getting into it too.
Henry’s attention landed on me again. His brows rose. “You don’t think I did?” At this point, he sounded fuckingdefeated. And I think hearing that hurt more than any word he’d said.
Because Henry Parker Pressley didn’t give up—his ego wouldn’t let him. He didn’t get defeated, and he most certainly didn’t cry on the phone to anyone. The realization that I’d been the cause of both stung. Terribly. Trying to shove those thoughts to the furthest corner of my mind, my eyes fell on Wren again. If he’d texted her, why wouldn’t she just tell him where I was?
She shrugged nonchalantly, eyes pointedly on me. “If you’re angry with him, so am I. Doesn’t matter if we’re fighting or not.”
