Page 69 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
Darcy mutters, “Oh, boy. I feel one mutha of a bitch slap comin’ for Captain America.”
“He fucking lied to me? That son of a bitch LIED to me?”
Unable to remain sitting, I jump to my feet and start to pace. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I fell for his bullshit again.
“OK, now, let’s remain calm,” says Darcy, sounding worried.
“Calm?” I spin on my heel to stare at her. “You want calm? I’ll show you fucking calm! I’m so calm my hands won’t even shake when I chop off his fucking head!”
Tabby says, “Victoria, please don’t chop off my head for saying this, but what did you expect? You know him better than anyone. He’s a liar. It’s what he does.”
And he does it so well.
He actually had me believing he had feelings for me. It all felt so…real.
When really it was just a brilliantly calculated lie to get me to let down my guard so he could fuck me.
Sickened, I sink back into the chair.
Darcy looks back and forth between me and Tabby. “OK, can someone please tell me what exactly the history is with this guy? All I know is you two have a past. How much of a past is it?”
At that moment, my cell phone rings. I left it on the counter by the sink when
I left the night before. The three of us stare at it.
“You going to get that?” asks Darcy as it continues to ring.
“Tabby.”
At my prompt, she leaps to the counter and picks up the phone. “It’s him.”
I make a throat-slicing motion with my hand across my neck. She hits a button and the ringing stops.
Silence reigns in the kitchen until Tabby asks, “So, was there a safe?”
I nod. “A wall safe. Hidden in his office, behind a copy of The Lovers by Magritte.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“Dude. Talk about symbolism.”
Darcy sighs. “Translation, please.”
Tabby provides the insight for her. “It’s a famous French painting of two lovers kissing, but both of their heads are wrapped in white veils. The fabric barrier prevents true intimacy between the lovers, transforming an act of passion into one of isolation. It’s generally interpreted to be about frustrated desires, a depiction of the inability to unveil fully the true nature of even our most intimate companions.”
Darcy looks at me. “I’ll ask you later what it’s like to spend your days with a walking encyclopedia, but for the moment, answer me this: what’s in the safe?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I need to find out. It took me a while to find it, so I didn’t want to risk spending more time searching for a key.” My face hardens. “That will have to be next time.”
Tabby glances at Darcy, and then settles her unblinking green gaze on me. “I’m sure the answer is no, but I still have to ask; when you were playing hide-the-sausage and going through his closet to find something to wear and whatnot, you didn’t slip and tell him about the other thing, did you?’
Darcy perks up. “What other thing?”
Furious, my anger clouding my judgment, I snap, “The baby thing.”
Darcy looks at me in utter confusion. “Baby? What baby?”
