“You don't have to be so dramatic, honey. You always take things so seriously. Everyone is here to have a good time. We all need a reason for a little party, especially at someone else's expense.”
“So, what's going to happen… afterward?” I ask.
“You and Alex are going to figure things out. If for some reason you do agree to break up, then you can just call all of these guests or even email all of them and tell them that the wedding is off. No big deal. But if you don’t want to wait and want to stop this party tonight, then the microphone is right there. You're welcome to go ahead and use it.”
My mom narrows her eyes. She knows that she's asking me to do the impossible.
I have never been good at public speaking. For everyone else in my family, it seems to come as second nature. They can just take the microphone and make all sorts of statements that make everyone in the room feel good, whether or not they are true.
I can't do that.
I can't even make a basic speech in honor of someone let alone stand up there and tell 200 people why I'm no longer getting married.
Mom walks away and I follow her into the living room.
I take a deep breath. The band is about to start to play and this is the time to do a toast if a toast is going to be done. I know that my mom and my dad probably have something planned. I don't want to hear it.
Cold sweat runs down my spine and I'm thankful for the fact that I'm wearing a black dress that will hide whatever pit stains are inevitably going to appear underneath my arms.
I take a deep breath and take a few steps toward the microphone, but then someone stops me.
It's Alex.
He slips his arm under mine intertwining it just below the elbow.
He then pulls me close to him and whispers, “If you are planning on telling anyone that the engagement is off, then make sure that you remember that all of your parents’ money is invested in our hedge fund.”
I pull away from him, narrowing my eyes.
“Are you threatening me?” I gasp.
“No, of course not. I just want you to remember that our families are already interconnected and I wouldn't want anything bad to happen.”
We both know that it's a threat and I have no idea how to respond to it. Before I can take a moment to decide, Alex grabs the microphone with one hand and pulls me closer with the other.
He clears his throat and calls for everyone to pay attention. When everyone's eyes are up front, the house lights dim and a spotlight focuses on us.
He opens his mouth and starts to tell the audience the story of how we met and what happened the first time he told me that he loved me. The speech is eloquent and punctuated with pauses for laughter and contemplation.
He doesn't make himself look like a saint, but he does make everyone in that room love him because of how much he loves me. Of course, he doesn't tell them about Jen or anything that happened today, but when it's over, I certainly can't.
People are tearing up at his words and his charm and even if I were to suddenly tell them every last dirty secret, I don't think that they would side with me.
The thing is that I don't need them to side with me. The decision is all mine.
I know this. Still, I can’t bring myself to tell everyone the truth.
Luckily, the rest of the speeches are much shorter and more concise. My mom only says a few words and she never says only a few words.
Lindsey passes altogether and Alex's parents just give us a brief congratulations. I don't know if they suspect, but I'm relieved that this part of the evening is over.
Finally, it is time for dessert and dancing.
When the music starts roaring, I step outside for some more fresh air. The area by the pool is crowded and I want some alone time so I go around the side of the house.
There’s a secondary patio along with a smaller outdoor dining table and four chairs.
I collapse into one, pushing off my heels and propping up my sore feet on another.
I don’t see that someone is sitting across from me until he clears his throat.
10
Emma
“I didn't mean to scare you,” he says after I jump.
“No, you didn't.” It's a lie and we both know it, but he lets me off the hook.
Suddenly, I feel self-conscious. How could I have not seen him before?
“I can go if you need some time alone,” he says in his smooth, velvety voice.
I hesitate and he leans over the picnic table, bringing his face out of the shadows.
His eyes are piercing and black. His hair is silky and dark, falling slightly into his face.
There is a mysterious aura to him, almost as if he doesn't quite belong here.
Then again, who does?
“No, you don't have to leave,” I say. “I like the company.”
I wait for him to ask me what's wrong, but he doesn't.
I appreciate that. We spend some time enjoying each other's presence without the need to fill the void with conversation.
“So, you're the bride-to-be, huh?”
I shrug and say, “I guess.”
“Maybe not?” he asks, raising one eyebrow higher than the other.
“Absolutely not,” I say.
This is the first time that I've ever told anyone at this party the truth, outside of my immediate family, and it feels incredibly liberating.
For the first time, I’m not pretending that I am someone that I'm not.
For the first time, I’m not covering up for some awful deed in order to save face.
By the way, why is it that I should feel humiliated by what Alex did?
I didn't do anything wrong.
He's the asshole.
What's wrong with exposing him for being this terrible person who would do something so evil to someone that he supposedly loves?
“I just found out that Alex isn't exactly who I thought he was,” I say quietly, looking out into the distance. “I was going to break up with him. I did break up with him. Then my mom refused to call off this party and his parents and his family members already flew in so… Here we are.”
“None of them know that you're not really getting married?”
I shake my head and say, “Besides my mom and sister, you're the only person at this party who knows the truth.”
“Nice.” He smiles.
“But I don't even know your name.”
I laugh and he laughs along with me.
He’s dressed in a black suit but without a tie and with an open collar. He looks both elegant and casual at the same time.
Unlike some of the people at the party, he doesn't look uncomfortable in his suit. In fact, it's quite the opposite.
He looks like he could sleep in it, attend a board meeting, and go surfing and somehow it would always be a fit.
“I'm Emma,” I say, extending my hand. “Emma Scott.”
“Nice to meet you, Emma,” he says and I like the feel of my name in his mouth.
When our hands touch, a shock of electricity sends the hairs on the back of my arm straight into the air.
I laugh, but he just smiles at the corner of his mouth. His lips are small, but full.
There's a lusciousness to them that is difficult to ignore.
Yet his smile is crooked. It's not the same on both sides, giving him a kind of whimsical quality.
“I’m Liam,” he says. “Liam Parish.”
I smile to myself at the symmetry with which he speaks, mirroring my own.
I want to ask who invited him here, but I can't quite come up with the right wording to stop me from sounding rude.
“So, what do you do, Liam?”
“Lots of things and a little bit of everything.”
I look up at him and our eyes meet. That question is supposed to be answered with a job title, but he challenges me and I like that.
“I like to surf. I like to ride horses. I like to hike and swim and read. How about you?”
&n
bsp; I pause for a moment to think about it.
Those all sound like hobbies. I think to myself. I haven't had much time to spend on my hobbies in years.
“I'm a writer. Journalist. I work for Coast Magazine.”
“Oh, I see. How do you like it there?”
“It’s interesting. I've always wanted to write for a living and I love that I can actually do that. Whether or not I make enough money to make a living, that's a whole other thing.”
“Doesn't seem like that's something you have to worry about,” Liam says, looking around the house and the grounds.
I clench my jaw to keep the anger at bay.
“For your information, I don't take any money from my parents whatsoever. They're rich, but I’m not. I make my own way in life.”
Liam focuses his gaze on me, narrowing his eyes.
I expect him to apologize, but he doesn't. Instead he just looks at me as if I am the one who has said something wrong.
“I didn't mean anything by that.” He finally caves.
“Yeah, no one ever does.”
“Is that something that's important to you?” he asks.
“What? Living on the money that I make and nothing else?”
He shrugs and says, “That's not usually how it's done in these parts.”
“I don't need a lecture on how nepotistic and self-centered people in Los Angeles can be. Everyone seems to do just about anything for money and access, but I'm not like that.”
I cross my arms and get up.
“I'm sorry,” he says after a long pause.
“Doesn't matter. I'm having a bad day.”
If we had met under normal circumstances, I would have never jumped down his throat like that. He didn’t really say anything out of line and perhaps I was too quick to anger.
“So, what kind of stuff do you work on for Coast?” Liam asks. “I've seen it at Barnes & Noble, but I've never picked it up.”
“Too many pictures of the ocean?” I ask.
“Too many pictures of carefully curated dining room tables with their centerpieces of lemons and silverware.”
I laugh.
I like his sense of humor. It's understated and surprising, something that I desperately need right now to take my mind off my life.
“We write a lot of articles about interior design especially for coastal houses, but mainly it's a lifestyle magazine with recipes and ideas for parties and that kind of thing. There are also a few spots for features. The one that I'm working on now seems kind of far-fetched and not a great fit for the magazine, but my boss has a stick up her ass about getting me to write it so I have to figure out how to do that.”
“Oh, yeah?” he asks.
I nod.
I don't know why I feel the need to tell him all of this.
It's not really a need, but a desire to share.
A part of me suspects that it might have something to do with the fact that he's the first person who has actually showed any interest in my work and in me in a long time.
“Tell me about it,” he says, shifting his weight forward and leaning closer to me.
“I pitched a story about a reclusive writer that no one knows anything about. It seemed like an impossible assignment at the time and is not a great fit for the magazine, but I had nothing else for the pitch meeting so I went with it. I had no idea that she would actually take me up on it.”
“Who is the reclusive writer?”
“D. B. Carter. Ever heard of him?”
Liam shakes his head and says, “I'm not much of a reader.”
“Well, a lot of people like him. He’s an independently published author.”
“Meaning?”
“He sells and publishes his books on Amazon and other platforms by himself.”
“What's so special about him?” Liam asks.
“He sells a lot of books. He writes epic fantasy with some romance. He makes a lot of money. He has sold millions of copies. He has been on all the big lists like The New York Times and USA Today. You know what else?”
“What?”
“He publishes a book every month or so. He’s dominating the space and no one knows one thing about him. Or even if he’s a he at all.”
“It might be a woman?” Liam asks.
“Pseudonyms are really popular so, technically, yes, D. B. Carter could be a man or woman. I'm just assuming that it's a man…unfortunately, being a white male is kind of a default setting.”
“So, how are you going to go about finding him or her?”
“I have no idea. Do you know anything about searching for people on the Internet?”
“No, not really. I don't even have a social media account.”
“Well, D. B. Carter does. Actually, he is quite active, but he never posts any pictures or personal information of any kind. Just promos for the books.”
“Can you just reach out to the account and ask for an interview?”
“Yeah, I guess. That's probably what I'm going to have to do.”
“Huh,” Liam says, leaning back against the picnic table. “Have you ever thought it was more than one person?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you said that the author is really prolific. They publish a bunch of books. Maybe it's not just one person doing the work. Maybe there's a bunch of ghostwriters.”
“I thought about that, but the work is too consistent and too good. If anything, it could be a few authors working together under one pen name. That's basically the mystery that Coast wants me to uncover. Exactly how I do that with a person who doesn't reveal anything personal anywhere on the Internet I have no idea.”
There's a long pause and it hangs in the air between us like a cumulus cloud. I realize that Liam might be onto something. Sometimes the people that know nothing at all can present a perspective that’s impossible to see from up close.
It never occurred to me that D. B. Carter could be two writers. There are numerous examples of this in the romance genre. Kennedy Fox, for one. They are two writers who alternate writing different chapters of the same book and then do the promotions together.
Could D. B. Carter be someone like that?
Could D. B. Carter be two women like that?
Liam and I sit together for a long time until I start to shiver.
This city is a desert with little humidity. Once the sun goes down, the earth turns cold, and your mother’s little dress becomes insufficient.
“I’m going inside,” I tell Liam. “See you there?”
He gives me a nod and a faraway smile that assures me that I won’t see him again.
11
Liam
I don't belong here.
I haven't been in LA in close to two years and now I remember why.
Plastic faces.
Plastic personalities.
Plastic lifestyles.
Everyone here is obsessed with money.
It's unfair to put everyone into the same pot and it’s even more unfair to use the guests of this party as a representation for all of Los Angeles, but I can’t help myself.
I ran into Alex by accident. I knew him back in middle school. We were friends but after my family moved away, we lost touch.
I shouldn’t be here, but I couldn’t say no.
There's no one around and I love it that way. I'm not much of a people person. It’s too crowded inside and the views from up here are breathtaking.
The breeze picks up and I close my eyes and enjoy the way it caresses my face. It's both refreshing and freeing.
I can almost taste the salt in the air. It feels so good against my skin that I actually wonder if I should maybe move back here. Not to the city and not in a development, but maybe get a little spread of a few acres on a cliff somewhere overlooking the vastness of the Pacific.
That's the main reason why I am here. I know that Alex’s hedge fund is doing quite well. As soon as I had mentioned that I have some money of my own, he started calling me about coming in fo
r an investment meeting.
A woman sits at the picnic table right next to me without seeing me. She's so buried in her grief and consumed by her sadness that she practically looks straight through me.
I don't recognize her at first, but then she starts talking and I remember where I know her from. She descended down the marble staircase like a princess. I wonder if I’m the only person at this party who knows that her fiancé waiting for her at the bottom doesn't deserve her.
Alex has a lot of positive attributes, but none of them are ones that will make him a good husband. He's bored easily, especially by women. And he's someone who needs to be entertained.
This woman sitting in front of me doesn't look like someone who is looking to put on a show. I don’t mean that in an offensive way. It’s just an observation.
Instead, she looks like someone who wants an equal partner.
Someone to love her, someone to be there for her, and someone to not cheat on her.
I'm the first guest that Emma tells that her engagement is off. I'm not so sure that this is actually the case because Alex does have a way with words and a way of getting what he wants, but I want to believe her.
She seems certain. She doesn't go into any of the details, but she doesn't need to. I only knew Alex as a kid but I’ve seen him on social media years ago. He has always loved women. Many women.
After Emma leaves, I continue to sit at the picnic table staring at the dark ocean below. I give myself a few more minutes before I get up and go back inside.
“Liam! There you are!” Alex waves to me from across the room.
I see him trapped in a conversation with four older gentlemen who look like they play a lot of golf and I'm happy to come to his rescue.
“He’s one of my oldest friends. I've known this guy since middle school,” Alex says.
After we all shake hands, the guy in the round spectacles asks, “What do you do for a living?”
“Bit of everything,” I say, putting my weight on my back foot. “Now? A lot of woodworking.”
Silence falls between us.
Alex smiles at the corner of his mouth, amused by my approach to this very normal line of questioning.
All the Lies Page 5
