The Liar Next Door by Nicola Marsh
Twenty-Seven
Saylor
I stroll into the kitchen, where Lloyd’s fixing an early dinner of fajitas. “Something smells good.”
He doesn’t turn away from the sizzling beef strips giving off a tantalizing aroma. “Who’s that guy you were talking to last night?”
I freeze. Lloyd’s question comes from left field. He isn’t the possessive type and he doesn’t care who I talk to usually…
“I talked to a lot of guys last night,” I say, carefully blanking my expression when he switches off the stove and turns to face me. “Which one?”
“The one who looked like he stepped off a stage after modeling men’s underwear.”
I laugh at his dry response and the very accurate description. Ruston has an excellent body.
“That’s Ruston. He lives across the park, almost directly opposite us. He’s house-sitting for a friend who’s on the road for six months, a campaign manager for a senator. How’s that for a high stress job? It’d be way too much pressure for me.” I’m babbling and feel an incriminating heat creep into my cheeks.
“Why are you nervous? I’m only asking because you two appeared to be chatting like old friends.”
Now’s my chance to tell him everything. How Ruston was my first love, how he took my virginity, how I would’ve done anything he asked to be with him, how he broke my heart time and time again, how Ruston was the reason my parents introduced us, how we crossed paths on a marketing job about five months ago.
But I’ve never heard Lloyd sound like this and telling him the truth now will look like I’m deliberately hiding something. Which I am, and that secret is far worse. I need him to believe in me, because when I tell him the truth I like to think we’ll have a hope of staying together, despite common sense telling me otherwise.
“I’m not nervous. What’s with you? You sound jealous.”
“I am.” Lloyd’s nose crinkles adorably when he’s insecure. “He’s much more your type.”
My husband is absolutely right but he can’t ever know that.
“You’re my type.” I tap his butt. “Want me to show you?”
He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his finger, his bashful grin warming my heart. Just not as much as Ruston once did. “Later. I’m starving.”
“So am I.”
I give a little shimmy and he laughs. I know he likes my larger breasts courtesy of this pregnancy.
“What kind of ridiculous name is Ruston anyway?”
I chuckle and waggle my finger at him. “Jealousy is beneath you.”
“As long as he’s not beneath you,” he mutters, almost as if he knows something.
But he can’t. My parents certainly wouldn’t have told Lloyd how they’d carefully handpicked him like the juiciest, ripest peach and presented him to me knowing I wouldn’t resist. The timing of our meeting had been too coincidental for them to be doing anything other than matchmaking. I’d mentioned moving to Manhattan with Ruston, they’d introduced me to Lloyd a week later. Seven long days during which I discovered Ruston had slept with a woman he’d picked up at a bar and it hadn’t been the first time.
Lloyd may have been my rebound guy but he’s the right guy for me. He’d never hurt me the way Ruston did. I made the right choice. So why does seeing Ruston again make me question that?
Lloyd will make a good father. I want a man who’ll love my child more than himself, who’ll be around all the time, who’ll put my child first.
Lloyd is that man.
No matter how fast my heart beats or my pulse races when Ruston looks at me, I need to forget about him and move forward with my plan. To do that, I need to up the ante.
I never imagined I could stoop this low—to blackmail someone—and every day I regret it. But I have no choice. I’ve been pushed to this. And I need to put the needs of my son above the guilt consuming me.
Besides, they don’t need the money as much as I do. They’ll be okay. I just need them to understand they have no choice but to give in. They’ve been reticent. Ignoring my calls. Avoiding me when we see each other. That’s why I need to confront them in a general setting, to ramp up the pressure so they capitulate to my demands.
Mustering every ounce of nonchalance I can, I say, “I think we should host a dinner party. Invite some of the neighbors. Maybe Frankie and Andre? Celeste?”
“What about your pretty boy Ruston?”
My heart skips a beat. The last thing I want is to sit across the dinner table from the guy I’ve shared countless meals with. “Why would I invite him?”
“So I can see for myself you don’t prefer him over me.”
Maybe I’ve underestimated Lloyd and he has better intuition than I think?
He’s inadvertently backed me into a corner. If I make a fuss and refuse to invite Ruston, he’ll wonder why, so now I’ll have to ask him. “You’re crazy, but I love you. Okay, I’ll ask him.”
He laughs. “Actually, it might be nice getting to know him. Andre mentioned he’s a photographer and the church is on the lookout for someone new to update our promotional material. Though is a dinner party too cozy? Too much too soon when we hardly know these people?”
“Do we intend to move any time soon?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Then doesn’t it pay to become friendly with our closest neighbors, especially Frankie and Celeste who both have kids and could be a big help to me after our baby arrives?”
“I suppose you want me to cook for this dinner party too,” he says, with a rueful grin.
I nod. “Thanks, honey. We’ll keep it simple. Maybe grill some steaks and serve a few salads, with a store-bought cheesecake for dessert?”
“Sounds doable.”
“You’re the best.” I wrap my arms around him, grateful to have him in my life.
Once I get through this charade I’m perpetuating and he knows the truth, I’m hoping our lives will be easier. But it’s a foolish, futile wish. This dinner party will be awkward and hiding the truth from my husband difficult.
Who am I trying to kid? Our lives won’t be easier once the truth comes out and in the interim, it’s more than likely to get a lot more complicated.