Page 106 of Marry Lies
“This has to be the best cheeseburger I’ve ever eaten,” she says, a satisfied noise coming from her throat.
I ignore the way it makes my cock pulse with the incessant need to be inside of her again.
“I agree.”
“Thanks,” she says a second later, wiping her mouth before leaning back on the damp sand with her hands. “Tonight was…perfect.”
After we ditched the fancy restaurant, I had Niro drive us to my favorite burger place. Then we took the canyon to Santa Monica, and despite it being cold and stormy, we decided to eat on the beach. Estelle had never seen the Pacific Ocean and watching as her eyes lit up in the dark—as the Ferris wheel lights from the Santa Monica Pier danced in her pupils—I realized that tonight couldn’t possibly be more perfect.
I finish my food and lean back next to her as my bare toes curl in the sand. Because it had been raining earlier, we’re both slightly damp—not that Estelle seems to care at all. She plopped right down on the wet sand, kicked her boots off, and squealed with delight.
I haven’t felt sand between my toes since I was a kid. Most definitelybeforethe fire.
I hadn’t bothered with the beach—or anything that would reveal any skin—since that fateful day.
“I’m sorry about that photographer,” Estelle says quietly. She’s facing forward, watching the waves break in front of us.
Sighing, I scoot closer to her so that our legs are touching. “Why are you apologizing? It’s not your fault. Everything he said was true.”
Estelle scowls, the frown lines around her mouth prominent. “It’s not, though. That’s what bloody pisses me off.” She looks at me with furrowed brows. “Nothing he said was true. You’re not distrustful.”
“But Ididpay you to marry me,” I tell her, smirking.
She scoffs. “No, your father did. And that’s beside the point.”
Not quite.
“And anyway, it’s none of his business.”
I chuckle. She’s cute when she’s angry, and that’s especially true when she’s angryon my behalf.
I’ve never had anyone get so defensive over me. I swallow thickly as I look away, guilt wrapping around my lungs and squeezing me tightly.
I have to tell her.
Ishouldtell her right now.
Ishouldtell her about the call I had with my father earlier. About how he was already talking about reneging on his word to her.
How he was doing the same exact shit I knew he would.
The same exact shit that photographer was talking about.
There would be no money from my father, and while I still wasn’t sure how he would manage to explain it away, at least she had my money.
If I told her now, she’d refuse to take it.
And her clothing line would be dead upon arrival.
No, I couldn’t do that to her.
She’d also be on the first flight back to London, and I might not ever see her again.
She deserved the truth, but I was a selfish asshole.
I’ll tell her eventually. One day, I’ll explain everything to her. I’ll eat the guilt. I’ll suffer the consequences.
But that day is not today.
