Page 134 of Marry Lies
Then she flounces away. Chase just gives Liam a knowing smile before following her. Malakai pats me on the arm before following them out of the kitchen.
“They’re full of shit,” he says, taking another sip of his beer.
I grin as I set my glass in the dishwasher. “Yeah. I thought the same thing a month ago.”
Winking, I walk into the other room just as Estelle turns away from her father. Without thinking, I open my arms and pull her into me, hugging her tightly. Kissing the top of her head, I look up to see Prescott Deveraux watching us with a knowing smile before tipping his hat and walking away.
“Did you have a nice talk?” I ask her.
She pulls away, her hands not leaving my sides. “I did.”
“Tired?” I ask, my voice hopeful.
She arches her brow. “For sleep?” I wiggle my eyebrows, and she laughs. “Oh my god. You really are insatiable.”
“I warned you,” I say into her ear as I lead her away. “And I have the perfect video we can watch.Together.”
She’s still laughing when I drag her toward the elevator.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO
THE PICTURE
Miles
One month later
“Oh god. Miles, I don’t think I can do this—”
I squeeze her hand as she stares ahead of us. “Come on, butterfly. It’s Christmas. We talked about this. You can do it.”
She takes a step forward. “Fuck. Of all the animals you could’ve rescued, it had to be a goat?” she whines, taking another step into Lucifer’s pen.
I chuckle. “He’s very excited to meet you.”
She turns around and glares at me. “And how would you know that? He could be plotting to murder me for all I know.”
Nudging her forward, she gives me one last glowering stare before taking another step inside the pen. She looks so fucking cute in her black leggings and an oversized red flannel. Even more so with the green hat on her head, despite it being temperate today. But no, my wife insisted on full Christmas attire.
I jokingly make a bleating sound, and I laugh when Estelle jumps about three feet in the air.
“Bloody hell,” she grumbles, glaring at me. “Are you trying to make me even more afraid of that demonic little beast? Let’s get this over with.”
“Maybe you should stop calling him a beast,” I offer.
“Oh, fuck off,” she tells me. “Get the camera ready. I’m only doing this once.”
I pull the DSLR, a Christmas gift from my shameless little minx of a wife, from around my neck, adjusting the settings as much as I know how. I drag the tripod over to the front of Lucifer’s house, screwing the camera in and ensuring I have the remote in the front pocket of my matching red flannel.
Because yes, we are a walking cliché in matching shirts and kitschy knit hats.
“Miles,” she says slowly, peeking into the house. “Look. He’s sleeping.”
I leave the camera as is, walking to the door of the tiny house. Lucifer is curled up on his bed, eyes closed, nose tucked underneath his pillow.
“See? Look how cute,” I say softly.
She pouts and crosses her arms. “Fine. He’s cute when he’s asleep. Wake him up so we can get our picture.”
