The Liar Next Door by Nicola Marsh
Eighteen
Celeste
It doesn’t surprise me when Frankie and Luna follow Andre into my house. She texted me earlier saying Andre would be over after dinner around seven to help move my furniture, and though she didn’t mention she’d be coming too I’d expected it.
I sensed an undercurrent when I’d asked for Andre’s help in the park earlier today… like she’s okay being my friend but doesn’t trust me completely.
It saddens me, because I admired her for opening up to me, for sharing how she’s feeling about her job, about her imperfections. It had been a real bonding moment, until Saylor had interrupted. Not that she’d been unwelcome, but it’s Frankie I have more in common with, and with our daughters’ friendship fast developing I envisage us spending more time together.
“Where do you want me?” Andre asks, pointing upstairs. “Frankie mentioned something about moving a trunk in your bedroom?”
I see Frankie stiffen at his flyaway question, which could be interpreted as flirtatious if I was prone to that kind of thing. I’m not. I have no interest in her husband. He’s not my type and even if he was, I meant what I said to her earlier today. I don’t betray my friends. And I want us to be friends, more than anything.
“Yeah, it’s upstairs, second door on the right,” I say, because no way in hell I’m following him up there after Frankie’s odd behavior in the park when I asked for his help.
Andre’s halfway up the staircase before he notices I’m not following. “Uh, do you want to show me where you want it moved to?”
“Sure,” I say, turning to Frankie, determined to include her. “Do you mind coming up too so I can ask your advice about an outfit I want to wear to an interview?”
It’s BS but I know I’ve done the right thing when I see relief flicker in her eyes. She is angsty about her husband helping me and I have no idea why. We barely spoke at the party in the park.
“Okay,” Frankie says, and I wait until she follows Andre before moving behind her up the stairs.
When we enter the bedroom Andre is eyeing the trunk with a raised eyebrow. “Uh, how strong do you think I am?”
Frankie says, “Don’t be a wuss.”
I laugh and point to the walk-in closet. “I want it in there, out of the way, so I can put my desk near the window and work in natural light. I hate staring at a computer screen all day.”
“Makes sense,” he says, bending his legs and giving the trunk a tentative push, surprise lighting his features when it moves.
“Easy for you to push. Me, not so much,” I say, feeling like I have to justify inviting him over to help when I see Frankie’s eyebrows quirk in surprise.
“Where’s this outfit?” she asks, an overt challenge to my earlier excuse, and I really want to tell her not to worry about me, but it’s awkward with Andre around. I enter the closet and grab the first suit I see. It’s my favorite, a deep plum slim-leg pants and matching jacket combo that I wear with an ivory silk blouse.
I barely glance at Andre pushing the trunk into the farthest corner of the closet and try not to flinch as our shoulders brush. I quickly leave the closet, brandishing the suit. If Frankie’s eyebrows rose a few moments ago, they hit the stratosphere as she looks at the suit.
“That’s beautiful. The perfect interview suit.”
I pretend to dither, holding it up to the light. “You think? I’ve worn it a few times and while I liked it initially I’m not sure it gives off the right vibe. This new client I’m trying to woo will give me enough work to last a year so I really want to dress to impress.”
“Well, if you’re trying to give off a professional, stylish, confident woman vibe, I’d stick with it.” She gives a self-deprecating chuckle. “Then again, what do I know? My uniform of choice is whatever freebie has landed on my doorstep the week before.”
“You always look amazing.”
She zeroes in on my slip-up, looking confused, and I inwardly curse. “You watch my show? Because when we met you didn’t know who I was?”
“I mean since I’ve met you,” I say, covering quickly and hoping she believes me. “But I will definitely watch your show now I know I’m living next door to someone famous.”
“About that, please don’t post where I live anywhere online. Social media is great for business but I’m very protective of my privacy, especially with Luna.”
“Of course. I can empathize about needing to ensure complete privacy.” All she has to deal with is the potential overzealous fan or odd stalker, whereas I need to hide my whereabouts at all costs.
She hesitates, as if she wants to ask more, but before she can Andre barges out of the closet, announcing, “All done. Anything else you need a hand with, Celeste?”
I shake my head. “No, thanks, all good. I appreciate you moving that for me.”
“Any time.”
I see Frankie’s frown as she glares at her husband and I stifle a sigh. There’s no way I’ll be asking for his help even if the roof caves in and I need to fix it myself.
“See you at home, sweetheart.” As if sensing Frankie’s disapproval of our relationship—even though it’s nonexistent—he kisses her on the lips before clomping down the stairs.
“Roland used to be like that, sounding like stampeding elephants…” I have no idea why I let that slip, but her frown disappears.
“Is he the reason you need to maintain privacy?”
I nod and bite down on my bottom lip to stop from blurting too much.
Her eyes glimmer with understanding and, thankfully, she doesn’t probe. “We’ve got each other’s backs, right?”
“Absolutely,” I say and mime zipping my lips. “You can trust me.”