The Lie, Natalie Wrye [ebook reader play store txt] 📗

not the only one not to be seen.

I haven’t seen Nancy for the last fifteen minutes. And I’m starting to think it’s not a mistake.

Contrary to every neuron in my brain telling me no, I’m eager to finish the story. The one we started with my tattoos.

Some part of me knows I need it before we go our separate ways. Before this weekend is over.

My eyes travel the length of the tiled hallway which is now filled with the sounds of voices from multiple doorways.

But I’m only listening for one.

And it isn’t Sabrina’s, who pipes up suddenly, her eyes watching mine.

“You couldn’t care less about any of this right now, could you?”

I pause. “You want the truth or a lie?”

“Depends.” She clutches harder onto her hips. “Do you? Since you’re making tonight even harder than it has to be. Guess I’m going to have to group you in with that other one for running in ‘Worst Sibling of the Year.’”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t made anything worse.”

“Oh yes, you have. And I’m not going to let you get away without knowing it. Took me forever to find a new bedroom for Nancy to set up in. And here I thought the Bannekers would be the hardest couple to satisfy. Seems they’re the only people incapable of being satisfied with…is each other. And I don’t blame them.”

My blood turns to ice. “What are you saying? That Nancy has got another room?”

She nods. “As of ten minutes ago. Check your room if you don’t believe. Nancy moved out. I’ve set her up in the East Wing. Grandmother’s wing. And here I was hoping your ego wouldn’t force your fiancée out. Turns out it’s not the first time I’m wrong tonight.”

I close my eyes, reality hitting me like a wrecking ball.

Because Sabrina might not be wrong.

Maybe my ego is forcing Nancy out. Since I guess she can’t stand to be near me.

My ego had let the line between business and pleasure blur…not that I hadn’t been testing its boundaries already.

And with one location change, Nancy had put that line right back in place.

No questions. No warning.

Without another word, I head to the East Wing, leaving Sabrina shouting after me.

I’d deal with my little sister soon.

But first I have to do something.

Something I should have done today in the first place.

Chapter 13

NANCY

I did it. I did the unspeakable.

I think I may be the only woman on the planet Earth who has ever successfully turned down Andrew Fletcher.

And just minutes after considering sleeping with him.

I think I’m owed some type of gold medal by an Olympic committee. Or even silver.

Yeah, silver was warranted when you left the bedroom of a man for whom they were made for.

And I should feel like a million bucks. I know I should.

Especially because I’m sure that’s what Sabrina spent when she purchased this cocktail dress in the bridal shop that she thought I just had to have.

But I don’t.

In fact, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt cheaper.

The night is surprisingly warm—balmy and slightly rainy for February, and I crowd into a black limo already occupied with party guests on their way into the city for the new rehearsal dinner location.

I don’t wait for Andrew.

Can’t.

I don’t know what I’d do if I saw his face.

If I saw the disappointment. Or the anger.

Or maybe even the relief.

He hadn’t called…even when I moved my suitcases while he showered.

He hadn’t texted. Hadn’t sent smoke signals.

The moment, the move, was supposed to be a triumphant one—a reminder of my control in a weekend that gave me anything but.

But I don’t feel empowered. All I feel is numb.

And even amongst a crowd of attractive, cocktail attire-adorned wedding guests ready to eat and drink the night away, I am the odd woman out, my eyes stare out the rain-streaked window and on Interstate 95 as we merge onto the freeway, heading in the direction of the Manhattan I’ve tried to leave behind.

I stare at the deepening dark sky. The clouds.

Anything to keep my mind off Andrew.

Halfway back to New York City, the scene of our initial crime, I text Sophia, hoping to find solace in the only thing I do have control of…

I sigh out loud in the backseat of the limo, shuffling along the leather.

Me: Hey troublemaker. How’s Vegas?

SOPH: Hey prude. It’s fine. Great, actually. The February air is dry here.

But it’s not like Noah and I have made it out of our room enough to really notice…;)

She waits a few seconds before typing the rest.

How’s the bar?

Me: It’s fantastic. I mean, Deacon and I have always made sure this place works like a machine. All the parts work without even trying.

I try to smile at my screen.

SOPH: That’s great. What you’ve always wanted…a bar that practically runs on its own.

She doesn’t end there…

And yet, why do I get the feeling that there’s more to what you’re saying…?

Me: Like what?

SOPH: Idk… Maybe because the only thing we ever talk about IS the bar.

Not about you. Or your weekends. Or what you do with them besides babysitting a place that we both know does just fine on its own without you being there every single second.

Me: I am not there every single second.

SOPH: Oh yeah? Want to tell me where you were last weekend?

Or the weekend before that?

Or the weekend before that?

In fact, go back a year, and tell me if you spent one weekend not wiping down bar-tops and cleaning up after customer’s spills and puke.

I’ll sit here and wait…

Me: Thanks, Soph. You know how to make a girl feel good.

SOPH: LOL. I’m not trying to make you feel good.

I’m trying to tell you the truth…

Ah, the truth. A concept I used to be familiar with. A concept I find myself feeling further and further away from.

SOPH: Nance…

Me: Yeah?

I respond, feeling more and more worthless by the second.

SOPH: What’s going on over there?

You’ve been MIA lately.

Or more importantly…

What do you need?

Is there anything I can do for you? Anything