The Lies We Tell (The Four 1)

I pushed away from the car and strode over to her, ripping her away from Cassius and hauling her over my shoulder.

“Put me down, right now,” she screeched, her hands flailing ineffectually on my back. I heard Cassius’ howling laughter behind me. Asshole.

I opened the door with one hand and deposited her inside the car, slamming the door shut, then quickly got into my side and started the engine before she could do something stupid like try to get out.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” I stared at her, my teeth bared in a snarl.

She looked back at me, completely fucking unrepentant. “I told you. I was saying goodbye.” Our eyes remained locked, tension filling the space between us. “I don’t appreciate you throwing your weight around. I already told you that yesterday. Look at what you did to my face.”

My eyes scanned her head and h

er nose, that same uncomfortable feeling of guilt rising in me as I took in the red, scraped skin. Fuck.

“Sorry.”

We were both shocked by the words that fell from my lips.

She sighed heavily and collapsed back against the seat, and I put the car into gear, moving smoothly down the driveway and onto the road.

“I’m not sorry for what I did to your car. Or spilling orange juice on you, just so you know.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes at her words, not bothering to answer, instead turning on the stereo and setting the volume high enough to get it through her head that there was no more talking. The sooner she was away from me, the better. I broke every speed limit to get us to university and her out of my space as soon as possible.

The second we reached the campus car park, she got out without another word, storming away towards her apartment building. As soon as she’d gone, I felt like I could fucking breathe again.

Until the text arrived from my dad.

The three of you are expected at a party next Saturday that Christine and I are hosting. Formal wear. 7pm. Don’t be late and don’t do anything to show us up.

Fucking brilliant.

NINE

“Miss Huntington.” Allan smiled as I stepped into the foyer of the Cavendish house, the taxi pulling away behind me with a loud screech. “I’ll show you to your room.”

I trailed him up the wide, curving staircase, down a long corridor, the walls hung with portraits, to an ornate gilt door. He opened it with a flourish and indicated I should enter the room first.

“This is your bedroom.”

The room was huge, with a mahogany four-poster bed taking up the centre, plush carpets, and heavy curtains either side of a large window that had a stunning view of the sea. Dropping my bag on the floor next to the bed, I crossed to the window.

“The bathroom is through those doors.” I turned around to Allan as he pointed to my left. “I’ll leave you to get settled in. Mistress Cavendish is expecting you downstairs at seven o’clock.”

I nodded, and he left, closing the door behind him.

When I’d received the text from Arlo Cavendish, requesting my attendance at a party, I’d begun planning. It was the perfect opportunity to investigate, and I’d managed to wangle an overnight stay—an easy task, as it turned out Caiden and Weston were also staying over. My mother had actually called me herself to discuss the importance of “putting on a united front,” as apparently people were curious about me and desperate to sniff out any hint of tension between us. Since I needed to stay on her good side, in order to get to the point in our relationship where I felt comfortable questioning her about my dad, I was prepared to play nice.

So. Here I was. Dressed and ready for the party. My long, dark hair was perfectly curled, falling down my back, and my dress was…not quite the formal wear my mother had insisted on. More an approximation. Black, super short, and silky, with a flared skirt and a deep V-neck that ended underneath my breasts, it made my legs look miles long especially when I paired it with my sky-high Louboutins—a brand of shoes I’d never owned until my mother had couriered me a note written on heavy vellum paper, ordering me to visit a particular boutique in Alstone. I’d turned up to find the shop assistants prepared for my arrival, and I’d spent almost an hour trying on clothes and shoes. While I hated the thought of owing my mother anything, she’d been the one who had planned this party, and if she wanted me to dress in designer wear, I certainly wasn’t going to use any of the small amount of money I had remaining on clothing I’d probably never wear again.

I peered into the mirror one last time to make sure that the remaining bit of redness from my carpet burns were covered by foundation and slicked on some lipstick—“Scarlet Witch”—before fastening a delicate gold chain around my neck.

I was ready.

Heading downstairs, I skated around the red velvet rope that marked the upstairs as out of bounds and followed the sounds of talking. I was about to enter the room where the noise was coming from when my arm was yanked back. Wobbling on my heels, I lost my balance and flailed, trying to stop myself from falling.

I was caught by a solid body at my back and large hands at my waist, steadying me.

“Wait.” The low hiss was right by my ear, his face so close that his stubble was brushing the side of my jaw.