Forgiving Lies (Forgiving Lies 1)

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what I could say. I knew I was being a selfish bastard by keeping her when I was hiding everything that I was. And instead of breaking down and telling her everything, I’d just responded by claiming her. Curling one arm underneath her body and pressing my mouth to the soft skin at the base of her neck, I breathed her in and prayed that the day I told her everything wouldn’t also be the day I lost her.

Rachel

I BROUGHT MY legs up on my chair as I stared at the darkening sky. It was beautiful out here, so quiet, and just perfect. Vineyard on one side, and Texas country on the other . . . I preferred the country side. I was sitting out on the patio, enjoying our last night at The Vineyard, exactly as we had the first two nights. I loved listening to the cicadas, watching the sun set, and looking at the stars after. You just couldn’t get this atmosphere in Austin, and I was sad we were going back tomorrow. This impromptu trip had been incredible, and I loved Kash for it.

Looking over my shoulder through the windows, I caught a glimpse of him in the kitchen and a smile tugged at my lips. We’d been living up the honeymoon joke Mason had played on us, and though I knew it was just that—a joke—every time he called me his wife, it warmed my entire body, and I got a rush out of calling him my husband. My rational side kept telling me it was just the newness of being in love with him. That it was absolutely ridiculous to have a craving for this to be our reality. I mean honestly, who meets someone and a little over two months later knows without a doubt that they want to spend the rest of their life with that person?

Me.

I’d known even before we came here that I would spend the rest of my life with him. But this weekend had changed even that. It wasn’t just that I knew I would. I could see it now. I could see our lives together, and the absurd thing about all of that was that I now couldn’t see anything wrong with feeling this way after we’d only known each other for two months.

See? I was crazy. This is how fourteen-year-olds in puppy love think. Not twenty-one-year-olds who, honest to God, a few months ago couldn’t have cared less if they ever got married. My rational side started spouting off divorce rates and the increase in those rates when marriage happens so quickly . . . but then I thought about my parents. They’d met and were married within four months and loved each other fiercely up until the end. Was it still possible to find that kind of love?

The door opened and Kash walked out carrying two bowls of pasta. Handing one to me, he pulled the other chair up closer and sat down in front of me. Grabbing both my ankles in one of his hands, he extended my legs and set my feet down on his lap as he got comfortable.

“What were you thinking about so hard when I walked out?”

Er . . . nothing I want to share with you right now. “I’m sad to be going back. I’ve had a really good time with you here.”

He raised an eyebrow as he chewed some of his food and waited until he could swallow to respond. “So you only have a good time with me when we’re here?”

I nudged his stomach with one of my feet and he smirked at me. “No, it’s just been nice. No work, no Candice, no pancakes . . .”

“You love pancakes. Don’t lie.”

“Not as much as some people, apparently.” Rolling my eyes, I snuggled deeper into my chair and took a bite of food.

Kash was quiet throughout the rest of dinner; he didn’t look at me, just stared out at the scenery like I had been doing before he’d joined me. We could sit in comfortable silence or even spend hours together with him on one side of the room playing his guitar and me on the other writing to my parents. But this wasn’t comfortable; it was weighted. I knew he wanted to say something, but I also knew he would say it whenever he was ready. So I finished my dinner and waited until he was. Sometime after he’d set his bowl down on the patio, he turned to me, and the depth in his gray eyes startled me.

“I’ve missed pancakes. But I’ll miss being married to you more.” Without another word, he moved my legs to the ground, grabbed both our bowls, and kissed my forehead before going back into the villa.

I was frozen. My heart had stopped and I wasn’t sure whether it had started back up again or not. How had he taken something as asinine as pancakes and turned it into a beautiful statement? But I knew right then I had my answer. It was definitely still possible to find that kind of love.

And I’d found it in him.

I stood and walked out onto the grass a ways to enjoy the night for a little longer and think about this revelation without his too-knowing eyes on me. Not two minutes later, his arms were wrapping around my waist and his lips were on my shoulder.

“I want you to be my wife, Rachel.”

My body froze but my heart began racing. What was he saying? “I thought I already was,” I said teasingly, and forced out a light laugh.

“No, uh, I don’t want this to end here. I—” He sighed and turned me so I was facing him. His darkened eyes searched mine and he shook his head marginally. “I get it, this is crazy. But I want this with you, what we’ve had this weekend. I don’t want it to end, tomorrow or ever. I want you, forever.”

“Logan . . . what?”

“Marry me.”

My mouth popped open and every rational thought that was screaming at me was quickly shut up when I saw the love he had for me pouring out of him. My head shook negatively for a split second before my mind realized that was the wrong direction and I furiously nodded. “Y-yes.” Oh my God, I can’t even figure out what word I’m supposed to say right now!

“Yes?” he asked in shock, and gripped my shoulders in his hands.

“Yes!”

Crushing my body to his, he captured my mouth and kissed me through our smiles. “You’re going to marry me?” he asked somewhat breathlessly, and kissed me harder. “You’ll be my wife?” I couldn’t respond against his forceful kisses so I just nodded again and he smiled. “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too, Logan.”

13

Rachel

I FELT A body slip into bed behind me and instantly knew it wasn’t Kash. It was much too small, definitely smaller than my own . . . and the second her arms went around mine I knew exactly who it was. I patted at one of her hands and heard her sigh.

“You’re awake then?” Candice asked in a shaky voice.

“Yeah, I’m up.”

“Can’t believe it’s already here.”

“I know.” It was August nineteenth. It was a Saturday, not that the day of the week mattered; it just happened to be the day it fell on this year. The four-year anniversary of my parents’ death. I continued to stare blankly at my clock as the minutes ticked by and laughed softly. “Now, girls,” I said, imitating my mom’s voice perfectly, “how are you going to get guys to notice you if you spend all weekend in bed?”

Candice’s body shook with laughter and a happier sigh sounded behind me. “But, Rebecca, the sun isn’t even up. All the cute guys are still asleep. Go away,” Candice whined.

I mimicked throwing open the curtains, like my mom always would after Candice and I would complain. “Oh, they are?! Perfect! Then we can do the unattractive things now before they wake up.”

Candice rolled out of bed and threw the comforter off me. “Ready for the unattractive things, Rach?”

“Meet you in three!”

I jumped off the bed and went to brush my teeth, put on some deodorant, and throw on a bra. It was tradition. Whenever weekends began at my house, my mom would wake us up the same way. And even though we knew what was coming, we’d always complain about her waking us up so early on a weekend. Deep down, she knew we loved it. We’d go get breakfast completely skanked out. The only thing Mom would let us do was the essentials: put on a bra, brush teeth, and wear deodorant. Every time we’d order the same thing: hash browns, biscuits and gravy, and a ham-and-cheese omelet. We’d split all of it, and when we were done stuffing our faces, we’d go out for pedicures. My mom thought you should always look your best for guys, but girls needed to indulge every now and then, and doing it at the ass crack of dawn was her method for getting away with it. And now, every year on the anniversary, Candice and I honored that memory.

After I slid the shirt I’d slept in back on and stepped into my flip-flops, I ran into the living room at the same time Candice was coming out of her room. We grinned awkwardly at each other and she grabbed me in a big hug before we left the apartment. Bittersweet memories . . . but definitely the best way to start off this day.

TURNING OFF MY car, I wiped the tears from under my eyes and tried to catch my breath from laughing too hard. “Oh my word, Candice, I had completely forgotten about that.”

“You forgot about that?! How? Seriously, your dad was the funniest guy I knew!” She fanned at her tear-streaked face and we both got out of my car.

After breakfast and pedicures, we’d gone back to the apartment, taken showers, and gotten ready for the day. We went window-shopping at an outdoor mall called The Domain, not only because we couldn’t afford much of anything from those shops anyway but because it was another thing we’d done with my mom. She’d take us to Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills just for the fun of looking at everything. We never once bought anything, just browsed. And since Rodeo Drive was a little too far to get to this year, the pricey shops at The Domain were our replacements.

Once we got our fill of browsing, we went to the movies, picked a comedy, and got the biggest tub of popcorn and three boxes. Candice and I filled the boxes with popcorn and we each sat one on our lap, placed one on the seat next to her, and put the tub of popcorn next to me. My dad always said he was the man so he got to hold the tub, but really he just wanted all the extra butter that was sitting in it; we just let him think we never figured him out. Their popcorn remained untouched, as it had every August nineteenth over the last three years, and when Candice saw my face when we went to throw the leftover popcorn away, she immediately picked back up telling funny stories about my parents and kept it up all the way home.