The Liar Next Door by Nicola Marsh
Thirty-Nine
Saylor
Despite his initial reluctance to host the dinner party, Lloyd is the only person who actually had a good time tonight. Celeste appeared bored, except when chatting with Andre. Frankie drank too much and ended up making a fool of herself with Ruston, and he’d played up to her like an idiot. And I’d hated having to watch the whole thing unfold.
I wanted one guest in particular to feel hassled, that I can reveal their secret at any moment if they don’t pay up, and I’m not going anywhere until they do. I’d watched for signs during the evening, to see if they appeared uncomfortable. But their acting ability is on par with mine and I saw nothing. Though I sensed a general tension in the group, so I’ve done the right thing getting us all together. The more pressured that person feels, the better.
I’ve set this in motion. It will escalate. And I’ll either get everything I want or the entire thing will blow up in my face and I’ll be left with nothing.
If this stupid plan of mine goes pear-shaped, I’ll lose my family. My parents will never speak to me again. We may not be close these days but I respect them. They’re good people and don’t deserve to have their world come crashing down courtesy of a daughter who lost her mind for a few hours and made a monumental mistake.
“Everything okay?” Andre comes up beside me as I watch Ruston stalk across the park toward his place, a small part of me wishing I could run after him and demand he listen.
“Yeah, just tired.”
“I’m waiting for Luna. She’s in the bathroom.”
“Sure.”
Our conversation is stilted. We barely know each other. And no amount of dinner parties is going to change that. We have nothing in common.
“You and Celeste seem to get on well.”
“She’s nice,” he says, with a noncommittal shrug. “Good conversationalist. Easy to talk to.”
“Not sure if your wife approves.”
His expression hardens. “Frankie’s drunk. She’s probably passed out on our bed right now.”
From what I’d seen, it looked like Frankie had a good time. Considering we haven’t lived in Vintage Circle long I don’t know her that well. But every time I’ve seen her she seems tightly wound, like she’s doing her utmost to pretend everything is fine when it’s not.
If anyone knows the pressure that comes with perfection, I do. Growing up, I had to ensure my skirts were never too far above my knees and my V-necks didn’t dip too low in the front. I couldn’t wear too much make-up and my jewelry remained modest, tiny silver stud earrings and a delicate cross necklace.
I’d flown under the radar at school too, trying my best to get good grades, pleasant to everyone so I didn’t get singled out by the cliques, never smoking or drinking in public where I could get caught.
Ironic, that the one night I cut loose all these years later is the one night that can unravel it all.
“I don’t know Frankie well, but is she usually that flirtatious when she drinks?”
“No, because she rarely drinks, and if she does she’s funny,” he mutters, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “I’ve never seen her like that before.”
“You weren’t impressed.”
“I was fine with it.” His reply is aggressive, snappy.
I hold up my hands. “Hey, no need to bite my head off.”
He grimaces. “Sorry…”
“Maybe give your wife a break? She’s drunk. We’ve all been there.”
He scowls, and I have no intention of delving into his marriage, so I try to deflect. “Are you sure you’re not jealous?”
“Ruston is an asshole.”
There’s no heat in his response and he’s just grouchy after an argument with his wife. What annoys me is my instantaneous reaction to defend Ruston, when in reality Andre’s right. If anyone knows I do.
“Does Frankie know the three of us worked together on that advertising campaign?”
He glares at me, his brow furrowed. “No, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
If anyone knows about keeping secrets, I do. I have no intention of divulging to anyone how Ruston, Andre and I know each other. Besides, I understand his reticence. I know too much about the last time we all worked together.
“You should go,” I say, my tone devoid of emotion, but my accusatory gaze pinning him until he practically squirms.
“I will, once Luna’s done.” He takes his hands out of his pockets, only to fold his arms, stiff and defensive. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Saylor, but I’m over the whole neighborly-buddy act, okay?”
I can say so much. I can ruin him. Instead, I force a sincere smile and shrug. “Okay.”
He glowers at me a moment longer before heading back inside to get his daughter. He’s rattled. I glimpsed a flicker of fear in his eyes before he stormed off.
But he’s not the only one floundering and I need to double my efforts to get what I want.