Grand Lies (The Promise Duet Book 1)

by JC Hawke

  Naive maybe, but I expected a room—just one—a bathroom and perhaps a pokey little window that I pictured hanging out of with Mason at my back. Cute, boutiquey, Paris kind of vibes.

  This isn’t that.

  Everything about it is luxurious with high ceilings, fresh white walls, and cream and soft beige furnishings. Everything complements something else in the room. Like the two windows that look out over the city, both wide and the size of the wall, yet dressed with thick velvet drapes, showcasing the stunning view. White flowers are placed in vases and cover nearly every surface, the smell caressing me like a fresh summer’s day.

  I step past the sectional sofas and towards the bow window that looks over the terrace. It extends from the room, offering panoramic views over the iconic tower.

  “Wow.”

  This place is… incredible.

  Too much? A little. But he is too much, and I only want more of him.

  I search the suite for the room service menu, then fall back to the plush cream sofa. I don’t know much French so it’s hard to navigate what I’m reading, but I think I spot avocado, and I know crepes are pancakes, but I would be devastated right now if I didn’t like what I ordered.

  I’m nervous when the dial tone starts.

  “Bonjour, comment puis-je vous aider?”

  Shit, I should’ve waited for Mase. “Uh Bonjour, roomy servicce?” I say in a French accent, my hand snapping up to my forehead.

  This is mortifying.

  “Of course, Madam. What can I get for you?”

  “Uh, du croissant?” I squirm, wondering if I have gotten that right.

  “Two croissants. Would you like any coffee?” she asks.

  “Oui, merci. Uh, uno sugarr.” I don’t know if Mason will have sugar, but I should get some just in case.

  He’d probably say something cocky like, ‘I have some sugar here for you, Pix.’

  “There’s sugar in your room, Mrs Lowell. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

  “No, uh, merci.” I frown, Mrs Lowell? “Wait. Are you English?”

  Realisation dawns on me as I replay the conversation in my head.

  She giggles into the phone. “Australian, you did great, by the way.” I can hear the smile in her voice.

  “Oh, wow, how embarrassing.”

  “Not at all, it’s refreshing that you gave it a shot. We get a lot of orders in many languages, and not many take the time to give the native language a go.”

  “I didn’t even want a croissant. I just didn’t know how to ask for anything else.” I laugh.

  “Well, that just won’t do. What is it you would like, Mrs Lowell?”

  “It’s Anderson. My name, it’s Nina Anderson.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. It must be an error. I will correct that on the system.”

  “It’s fine, honestly. But I’d kill for some eggs, scrambled, on toast.” I ask cheekily.

  “Absolutely, and so you know, all of the concierges are bilingual; it’s part of the job. Just let us know what you’d like, and we will happily help you.”

  “Thank you so much. Sorry again about my horrific French.”

  “You’re most welcome. Breakfast will be with you shortly. Enjoy Paris, Miss Anderson.”

  “I will.”

  I am. Because of him. And scrambled eggs on toast.

  An hour later I crawl back into bed, my belly full and my eyes tired. Pulling at Mason’s arm, I slip in under the sheets, letting him pull me back and into his warmth.

  “Where have you been?” he asks, kissing my neck.

  “I was hungry. I got you a croissant.” I smile to myself.

  “Hmm, I was going to take you out for breakfast.”

  “You still can, it’s early yet.”

  “Good. We can work off that croissant and then go for round two,” he says, rolling me to my back and hovering above me.

  “I had eggs.” I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to stop my smile.

  “Eggs? And I got a measly croissant?” He nips at my ear, playfully.

  “You were asleep. It would have gone cold.”

  “Right, let’s work off those eggs, then we are going to feed me. My Pixie is an impatient little devil.”

  I laugh into his neck as he pins me to the mattress.

  Mase

  I chuckle to myself as Nina bounces over to the elderly couple at the nearby benches. They smile up at her as she speaks to them, and her infectious personality has them warming to her instantly. The elderly gent stands, taking the camera from Nina just as I make it over to her.

  “Come on, I want to get the whole tower in the picture,” she says, pulling me in the opposite direction to where I was headed.

  She hasn’t stopped all day. We have been to the Louvre, the Triomphe and now the Eiffel Tower. She didn’t want to stop for lunch, but I made her, promising to come back again soon so we can see more of the city.

  Once she finds the perfect spot, she plants herself in front of me, beaming at the man just a few feet away who holds my camera in his wrinkled hands. I wrap my arms around her waist, hugging her to me, then direct a rare smile at the camera.

  She looks up at me, a dimple forming on her cheek. It gives me pause. So many thoughts whirl through my mind, but what I have in my pocket is at the forefront.

  Nina frowns as she searches my eyes. “What is it?”

  The world around us creeps into the moment, stealing her attention as the crowds of people on the green start cheering and whistling. I look up from Nina, scanning the area until I see them.

  “Oh, Mase! He just proposed, how romantic. Woooo, congratulations!” she shouts, cupping her mouth with both hands.

  I shake my head, laughing as I lean in to kiss her neck.

  Now is definitely not the time.

  “Thank you so much!” Nina exclaims, running to retrieve the camera.

  She starts to snap photos of me as I approach her, and I shove my hands in my pockets, squeezing the rounded edge.

  “Stop that. I will have a million photos of myself at this rate.” I pull her to me by the camera strap that hangs around her neck, dropping my lips to hers. I suck her bottom lip into my mouth and then pull away.

  “Where to next?”

  “Notre Dame!” she squeals, grabbing my hand.

  “Nina, wake up.”

  “No,” she groans, her nose twitching.

  I grin, pulling the covers from her body. “I’m taking you out tonight. Up!”

  “Maaaseee.” She reaches for me—or maybe the covers. “Please, I’ve had the most incredible time. Let’s order in; I’m so tired.”

  “It’s already planned, table is booked and it’s a big fucking favour. You want to get up, baby.”

  Her eyes pinch in at the sides as she glares up at me. “How long do I have to get ready?”

  “An hour.”

  She smirks, then rolls out of bed completely naked, disappearing into the en suite.

  I drop to the bed, smug, knowing I will be getting laid tonight.

  19

  Nina

  Mason is nowhere to be found when I come out of the en suite, but a note lies on the bed along with four bags. I bypass them and head straight for the minibar, pouring myself a glass of wine.

  I pull open the terrace doors and look down on the bustling street below, trying to decipher the emotions that seem to be bubbling to the surface.

  This trip has been perfect, and I know I will remember it for the rest of my life. It’s only made my feelings for Mason that much clearer. But the money thing, I worry it won’t ever stop being a problem for me, and with that comes doubt.

  I will give him this weekend because saying no will be futile, but once we are home, he has to understand that I will pay for my own stuff. I probably sound like a broken record to him, and I want to want these things, but I can’t allow him to buy me. It goes against everything I stand for as a person.

  Taking in a deep breath I return to the suite, heading for
the bedroom.

  I read the note.

  Don’t stress it, Pix. Breakfast is on you

  Meet me in the bar

  Mase

  Damn him and his perfect self.

  My eyes blink slowly over and over as I take in the gown that adorns my body. Its fitted bodice is covered in black beads and scattered diamonds. Diamonds! They sparkle against the glowing light of the bathroom suite. The deep v neckline dips low, complementing my full breasts. The skirt is flowy with a high slit up each leg. It’s comfortable and sexy and exactly what I would choose for myself.

  I can’t believe he got it so right.

  I roll my lips, grasping the cool marble counter as I try to contain my smile.

  What is this man doing to me?

  Once I have my hair dried and curled the best I can, I open the last remaining bag. So far, I’ve had extremely naughty underwear, the gown and my beautiful strappy shoes.

  I’m hesitant as I pull off the ribbon, sliding out the rectangular box—I already know its jewellery, but I worry it will be ostentatious and over the top.

  I gasp when I open it, suddenly laughing at my presumption. I fall to the bed, grinning like a fool at the final gift.

  A key to Mason’s penthouse. I don’t think about what it means, only him, in the bar downstairs, and the need to be in his arms.

  I snap the box closed and grab my purse.

  Mase

  I swallow thickly as she comes into view.

  She is perfection, and she is mine. She doesn’t search for me, our eyes finding each other without question. There is nothing else around us in this moment—just me and her. I stand, rearranging myself in my trousers as she makes her way over to me.

  I don’t go to her, lifting my chin and letting her close the distance between us, knowing that she needs to make this move.

  “My man in a tux.” She pops a sleek brow at me. “You sure we can’t go back to bed for the night, roomie?”

  I squint my eyes at her, unsure of her playful manner. “Roomie?”

  She shrugs. “It’s the inevitable.” A smile tugs at her lips, then she dips her head.

  “Hey!” I grasp her chin and lift her head, bringing her eyes up to meet mine. “Don’t ever hide from me.” I dart my tongue out, wetting my lips. I feel fucking nervous. “You’ll move in with me?”

  “Yeah, I will.”

  Fuck, I wasn’t expecting it to be so easy.

  My boyish grin can’t be contained, and I lift her into the air. “She said yes!” I shout, and everyone starts cheering and yelling congratulations at us.

  “Mason, what are you doing?!” she hisses, trying to wiggle free.

  “Just go with it, Mrs Lowell.” I squeeze her thighs, letting her slide down my body. “Come on! We have someplace to be.”

  I grab her hand, pulling her out the hotel doors and into the waiting car.

  It’s a short ride to our destination, and as we near, I can feel the buzz that radiates from the woman at my side. She knows.

  “Mase, please tell me I’m not wrong. I mean, I’m dressed for it,” she asks, full of hope as she looks from me to the window.

  The car comes to a stop outside of the building, and I only have to nod my head once before she has the door thrown open and is running up the steps.

  I hop out and thank the driver before joining her at the top.

  “You must have thought I was a right bastard when I told you we would have to put it off until next time.”

  She reluctantly tears her eyes away from the magnificent building in front of us. “You have no idea what this place means to me.”

  “Show me.” I nod my head in the direction of the main doors, and the smile she gives me as she pushes forward has my heart somersaulting in my chest.

  Nina

  The Palais Garnier is one of the most famous opera houses in the world, it’s beauty is something I have only ever been able to dream about.

  I stand at the bottom of the Grand Escalier, looking up at the magnificent thirty-metre-high vault and the double staircase that I know leads to the multiple foyers. I close my eyes as Mason’s arm wraps around my waist, his lips brushing my shoulder.

  “My boy did good.” I smile as I look back at him.

  He too can hardly take his eyes off the impressive architecture before us.

  We move forward together, up the sprawling steps, and I grasp his arm, allowing me to take in every detail without needing to concentrate on where I am going.

  “Everything is marble,” I state, observing the multiple colours that are etched into the ground. It’s unlike anything I have ever seen.

  We’re led through to the auditorium; it’s shaped in a horseshoe and is a sea of red and gold. I marvel at the view from the seats that we are led to and suddenly feel overcome with emotion.

  I blink rapidly, trying to clear the liquid pools that have gathered in my eyes. Reaching out, I run my hand over the golden pillars that I’ve seen so many times in photos. Nothing can explain the feeling of experiencing this monumental, iconic room in the flesh.

  We are seated in one of the pods, just the two of us, with the most spectacular view of the stage.

  “You’ve gone quiet on me,” he murmurs into my ear.

  Mase

  Her eyes are glistening when she turns to me, and a sharp pang shoots through me.

  I smooth her hair back from her face. “Hey, what is it?”

  She shakes her head as if she is lost for words. “You have no idea Mason Lowell. You have no idea.”

  The ballet is astounding. I must admit it’s held me captive the majority of the performance, but since the last interval, my eyes haven’t left her. The way her body tenses up with every move they make, the jerk of her shoulders as if she knows what’s coming next. She is so immersed with the ballerinas on stage; she doesn’t even see anything else. It must be for her what she is for me.

  Everything I never knew I needed.

  She chances a look at me, tears rolling down her cheeks as the show comes to an end. She grasps my hand as the audience stands, a roar that vibrates through the entire room, setting adrenaline racing through me.

  I can only imagine what she is feeling. But as she lifts my hand and pulls it to her chest, I feel her heart beating wildly under my palm. I pull her to me, placing a soft kiss on her temple.

  People start to leave the auditorium, but I can tell she is reluctant to leave. I bend, taking her face between my hands. “Come with me, angel. I have something for you.”

  I lead her to the ground floor, weaving through the people and over to the front of the stage. Lifting the wooden panel, I slip into the orchestra pit.

  “You can’t go through there!” she panics, pulling on my arm.

  “Do you trust me, Pix?” I ask, stepping up to her so we are nose to nose.

  She smiles, her shoulders dropping. “Always.”

  I take her by the waist and lift her onto the stage. “You have fifteen minutes. It’s all I could afford.”

  “What?” she mutters, her face turning pale.

  I worry she may faint.

  I nod my head to the lady at the curtain. “She has a list of music you can pick from. Go, dance!”

  “Mase, I can’t dance,” she whispers down at me, looking out on the auditorium. “Nobody is here.”

  “I’m here. Dance for me.”

  Her hands grasp her face in excitement. “Oh my god!” And then she is crying, full-blown sobs.

  “Nina, babe. Fifteen minutes.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. Oh my god. No one gets to be on this stage.” She shakes her head in disbelief.

  “I know. You almost didn’t.” I laugh.

  She has no idea how much I have paid for the measly fifteen minutes I had to beg for, but the look on her face right now makes it worth every penny.

  I walk a few rows down the auditorium and find a seat, spreading my legs to make myself comfortable as I wait.

  My finger taps on the velvet a
rmrest relentlessly.

  I hope she can dance okay in her dress.

  The lights go down, and I suddenly feel nervous, my throat growing tight and my palms sweating. I run my pointer finger over my lip, my knee bouncing.

  But then my angel is lit up in a single spotlight.

  The music begins, and she starts to move. Everything disappears, my eyes riveted to her, held completely captive by the pull she has on me. The lean lines of her body ripple as each muscle is pulled taut under the smooth skin. The passion and emotion that she puts into every expression and move she makes has me mesmerised.

  I sit with a heavy ache in my chest, feeling not only honoured to be watching this woman dance but incredibly proud of every part of who she is.

  She holds it together for the entire four minutes, hitting every step with perfect precision, but as the curtain falls, I stand. All the emotion she exerted on stage falling on my shoulders.

  She will need a moment to catch her breath. I know that. But I’m unwilling to give it to her—because I need her more.

  “Nina,” I call, climbing onto the stage and pulling back the curtain. “Angel.”

  She stands in the same spot, right as she was when the curtain fell.

  “That was incredible,” she whispers, her eyes finding mine, brimming with unshed tears.

  My world stops spinning with the look in her eyes.

  On the Palais Garnier stage, I pull the box from my tux pocket, flipping the lid and taking her hand in mine.

  “Before my mother died, she had this little Pixie.” Nina’s eyes bore into mine, transfixed and filled with untamed adoration. “She kept it on her bedside table, and every evening I’d sneak in before bed and steal it. The day she died, she told me to go and get my Pixie. I did, but when I came back to her, she was gone.” I pause, biting into my bottom lip and stealing a moment.