The Lie That Traps (Lies and Truths Book 1)

31. Izabella

IZABELLA

Exhaling a shuddering sigh, I let my body relax into the bed. As if he were waiting for me to settle, I feel his hold on me soften and his breathing slow. With my eyes open, I stare into the dark room, just about making out the shapes of the furniture. My case and everything that was left after I threw out my Penelope-style clothes have all been carefully unpacked and hung in the closet or folded into the dresser. The idea that I’m staying here is still strange to me, but nowhere near as strange as the fact that I’m naked and in bed with the guy who blackmailed me to pretend to be his fiancée.

I don’t know how we went from fighting to kissing to fucking, but I know that tonight changed everything, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. Gulliver and I had sex. I hadn’t intended for it to happen, but I’m not sorry that it did. I don’t believe that you have to be in love or save yourself for marriage. Sex is simple. I wanted him and he wanted me; my hymen is hardly a defining factor, or at least not to me anyway.

Since I opened my hotel room door and found him standing in the corridor, things have been gradually changing between Gulliver and me. The first day he bought me back here, I could feel his guilt, but I don’t think he’s treating me differently because he feels sorry for me.

Before dinner, he asked me to pretend with him, and I couldn’t resist. A part of me desperately wants the fairy-tale picture he’s painting for me, but I’m not sure where the lies end and reality begins anymore.

He said this isn’t a hookup, but what does that mean? What does any of this mean?

Gulliver said that he fucked me like he owned me, like my pussy belonged to him, like he wasn’t pretending. But then he cared for me like I was precious to him, like he wanted to protect me from the way he made me feel.

A part of me desperately wants all of this to be real, but if it is, what now?

I wake up sprawled across his chest, my legs tangled with his as he holds me to him, like even in his sleep, he was trying to stop me from getting away. The sound of someone knocking on my bedroom door has me untangling myself and fending off his hands as he reaches for me. Grabbing the towel Gulliver threw on the floor last night, I wrap it around myself, then open the door a little way and find Beth standing on the other side.

“Good morning, Miss Izabella. Yolanda is here,” she says politely.

“Thank you. Could you let her know I’m just about to take a shower but that I’ll be ready for her in fifteen minutes,” I say, my voice full of sleep.

“Of course. Would you like some breakfast?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

“Is there anything in particular you would like? I’ve made blueberry and cream cheese crepes for Mr. Winslow and his guests, but I can make you whatever you would prefer.”

“Crepes would be lovely. Could I have some coffee as well, please?”

“I’ll bring it right up,” she says with a nod before turning on her heel and disappearing down the hallway.

Exhaling sharply, I close the door. When I turn around, Gulliver is sprawled naked in my bed, his head resting on my pillow as he watches me intently.

“Good morning,” he says gruffly, his eyes smoldering, his hair sexily rumpled.

“Hey. I have to go shower. The journalist from TheNew York Times will be here soon, and I need Yolanda to make me look less bruised.” I gesture to my face.

“Come here,” he says, not moving, just staring at me with his dark, intense eyes.

“I can’t, I need to get ready,” I deflect, taking two steps toward the bathroom. “You should go and get ready too.”

“After you come here,” he says, his tone steely.

Sighing, I glance toward the bathroom, then back to him again. “You’re making this weird, Gulliver.”

“How?”

“We had sex.” I shrug. “I’m sure you weren’t a virgin before last night, so you know how this goes. The sleepover was…whatever it was, but if we carry on like normal and just go and do what we need to do, it doesn’t have to be weird. Right now, you’re making it weird.”

“Come here, and then I’ll go,” he coaxes.

Rolling my eyes, I tighten my towel around my chest, cross the room, and sit on the edge of the bed.

Strong arms lift me, laying me down next to him as he quickly unwraps my towel, pushing it open so my naked body is on display for him. “Are you sore?” he asks, sliding his hands between my legs and cupping my sex.

I’m torn between spreading my legs wider and clamping them closed as my body and my brain war. “A little,” I croak out as my body wins and my knees fall to the side.

His lips widen into a small smile as his gaze locks with mine while his fingers stroke and caress my folds.

“From now on, I’m going to touch you and kiss you like you’re mine, and it won’t be for the journalists or so anyone else can see. I won’t be faking it. I won’t be pretending, and neither will you,” he whispers a second before his lips take mine, kissing me sweetly, softly, and utterly possessively.

It’s after three in the afternoon by the time the journalist finally leaves. Apparently interviewing five people takes hours, even though she basically asked us all the same questions, just phrased slightly differently each time.

Just like he promised, Gulliver has taken every opportunity to touch and kiss me, and I’m confident that no one at TheNew York Times will have cause to question the validity of our engagement. But something about the easy, confident way all four guys spoke about me like I was an integral part of their group was unnervingly similar to the way they gaslit an entire room full of their family and friends into believing Gulliver and I were in love and engaged when it was all a lie.

Slumping down onto one of the chairs on the terrace, I pull out the band at the end of my braid and tease the hair loose, moaning at the feeling of relief after having it tied up all day.

I’m wearing the black high-waisted, wide-leg pants, and simple white T-shirt Fitzy sent over for the interview. My feet are bare again, and a series of long gold chains hang around my neck, resting between my breasts. It’s the most conservative thing he’s picked for me so far, but that felt appropriate considering this was an interview, and no matter how rich we all are, first impressions matter.

Sighing audibly, I lift my feet up and curl them beneath me.

“Here,” Kip says, startling me when he hands me a glass.

Eyeing the liquid speculatively for a moment, I lift it to my lips and take a tentative sip. “What is it?” I ask, taking a second drink.

“Long Island Iced Tea,” he says, perching on the coffee table in front of me.

“Thanks,” I say, forcing a smile to my lips.

“You did really well today; that reporter was eating out of your hand.”

“I’ve spent a lot of time pretending to be my sister. I know how to play the part well enough,” I tell him, a hint of anger slipping into my tone. Today felt like a familiar torture. I wasn’t myself. I pretended to be like Penelope, and Kip’s right, the journalist lapped it up. Lifting my glass to my lips, I take a long pull, but all I can taste is the bitter tang of my anger and frustration.

“What’s the matter? We should be celebrating,” he says, nudging my knee.

“Today didn’t feel like a victory, and honestly, I’m starting to wonder if I should have just left while I had the chance,” I admit, sighing tiredly.

“Why would you say that?” he asks, his brow furrowed in confusion. “This article will cement your engagement. Plus, it’ll really piss off your family. I thought that was what you wanted?”

Lifting my gaze to Kip’s, I try to smile, but it falls flat. “It is what I wanted, but I don’t know anymore. There’s so many lies, I feel like I’m losing track of what’s real. And I’m starting to wonder if it’s all worth it. Everything we’re doing might piss my family off, but it won’t make them sorry. It won’t make them better people. I’m not sure anything I do will really make any difference at all.”

Kip reaches out to cup my cheek with his hand. “It’s all going to be okay, you know?”

“Is it?”

He nods. “Yeah, it really is. This article will be published, Penelope will fail, and your family will lose the inheritance. Then you’ll be free.”

“Free.” I laugh. “Alone, sure, but I’ll always be a Rhodes, and they’ll hate me forever if I’m the reason they don’t get this money.”

“You won’t be the reason,” Gulliver growls from behind us.

Kip’s hand falls from my cheek, and he immediately stands and moves away from me, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

Turning, I look up at Gulliver, tilting my head to the side as I watch him close the distance between us. “No, I suppose I won’t be the only reason. You’ll be to blame too,” I say with a smirk.

A short, sharp burst of laughter falls from his lips, and he shrugs nonchalantly. When he reaches my chair, he holds out a hand for me to take, and I stare at it warily. When I don’t move, he sighs, leans forward, captures my fingers in his, and pulls me to my feet.

Lifting my chin, I wait for his bold lips to find mine, but instead of kissing me, he wraps his arms around me and hugs me. His touch isn’t sexual, it’s comforting, and I melt into him, lapping up the soothing warmth of being pressed into his broad chest.

“I could have been thousands of miles away by now, that would have been the smart thing to do,” I say, hating that I love the way it feels to be this close to him.

“I would have found you,” he drawls a moment before his lips find mine. The kiss is light and sweet, and I realize he’s still comforting me. This isn’t a prelude to sex. He’s not kissing me to claim me or to mark his territory in front of Kip. He’s kissing me to make me feel better, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Is this just another way we’re using one another, more quid pro quo?

I kiss him back because I’m an idiot and because I just don’t seem to be able to help myself. Pressing myself against him, I let him comfort me because I want this. I want to believe that he’s not using me, that this isn’t all a lie. Right now, he and the guys are the closest thing to friends I’ve ever had, and even though it’s foolhardy, I’m allowing myself to cling to them and believe that I might not be pretending after all.

The kiss stays soft and slow for several moments, but Gulliver must sense it when my body starts to crave more because his hands change from holding me to gripping me. His muscles tense, and his lips against mine become more intense and demanding. When his palm slips down my back to my butt, half lifting me so I can feel the way his dick has hardened, I don’t push him away. Instead, I slide my hand around the back of his neck and hold on, running my nails over his nape, heat scorching through my veins as he slowly teases my body to life.

Kip clears his throat. “Er, guys, I’m still sitting over here,” he says, his tone half amused, half…annoyed?

Gulliver reluctantly pulls away from my lips but keeps his hand on my ass. “I know you’re still there, asshole. I was hoping you’d take the hint and leave so I could play with my girl a little before we go out,” he says, chuckling darkly.

“You’re going out?” I ask.

“We’re going out. All of us.”

“I can’t,” I instantly reply.

“Yeah, you can. Yolanda is on her way back, and Fitzy is bringing you some outfits to try. Tonight’s the opening night for the club in the new Marshall Hotel. The guest list is exclusive, and we’re all on it. It’s time to stop hiding, Little Ghost,” he says, with a satisfied smirk on his full lips and a mischievous glint sparkling in his eyes.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I start.

“I do,” he says, silencing me with a fast, demanding kiss.

“I’m here,” Fitzy announces brightly, appearing in the terrace doors, carrying several garment bags. His brow arches, and he runs his gaze over the intimate way Gulliver is holding me before his lips twitch into an amused smirk. “Hello, darlings.”

“Hey Fitzy,” Gulliver greets, his voice dry and a little frustrated as he tilts his hips, reminding me just how hard he is.

“Hi Fitzy,” I say, my cheeks heating a little.

Fitzy’s gaze turns to me. “Hello, Izzy, sweetheart,” he says warmly. Then his eyes narrow a little, and his lips dip into a frown. “Neither of you are even showered yet?” he cries, glancing at his watch, then marching over to us and shoving Gulliver aside so he can take my hand and pull me away. “Gulliver, Kip, upstairs, showers, now. Make sure the others are ready too, I have outfits for everyone. Now let’s go,” he orders, rolling his eyes at his godson. Shaking his head dramatically, he tugs me toward the house before any of us have a chance to argue.

Fitzy’s dramatic sense of urgency is infectious, and I rush through my shower quickly, pulling on my robe and padding back into the bedroom while I blot the water from my hair with a towel. Yolanda is already set up and waiting for me, so I make my way toward her, pretending that I don’t hear Fitzy’s gasp when he sees the fading bruises on my face. Yolanda has my hair dry and styled into beautiful mermaid waves and a full face of what she calls “showstopper makeup” done so quickly it feels like I barely blinked and it was finished.

The whole time I was being pampered, Fitzy chatted easily, pointedly avoiding asking the question I know he must be dying to ask. When Yolanda removes the cape from around my shoulders, I stand up and turn to him. “My parents,” I say simply, lifting my eyebrows and shrugging.

The sympathy that is etched into every line on his face rankles me enough that I inhale sharply and walk past him to the dressing screen that’s been set up in the far corner. From behind the screen, I hear him clear his throat. “I’ve left some underwear for you to put on, then I’ve brought a few different outfits for you to try,” he says, all business now.

The underwear is barely-there black lace; so fine it feels sensual against my skin when I slide it on. Fitzy hands me a garment bag, and when I unzip it, I find a tight black bandage dress. It instantly reminds me of my sister, so I quickly rezip the bag and step out from behind the screen, ignoring the fact that I’m only wearing underwear as I hand it back to Fitzy. “That isn’t me, it’s my sister,” I say, my voice breaking with the ugly emotion that’s filling my throat.

“That dress is Gucci, and you’d look like a supermodel in it,” he protests, pursing his lips.

“Fuck, if that’s what you’re wearing, I think I want us to stay home,” Gulliver calls from the doorway, quickly stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. His wet hair is slicked back, he’s wearing a crisp white button-down, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and dark slim fit jeans that cling to his thickly muscled thighs.

Rolling my eyes at Gulliver, I unzip the garment bag and pull the dress out to show him. He wrinkles his nose. “God no. That looks like something Penelope would wear.”

Arching an eyebrow, I turn back to Fitzy, who purses his lips. “I’ve never met your sister. Give me a break.” Throwing the dress to the floor, he grabs another garment bag and thrusts it into my hands. “Go,” he says, shooing me back behind the screen.

This time, when I unzip the bag, I can’t help but smile. Pulling the black, satin, high-waisted shorts free, I run my fingers over the fabric before sliding them on and fastening the zipper. The top takes a little more time, but once I ditch the pretty bra and turn back to the mirror that’s been hung from the screen, I have to bite my lip to stop my smile from overtaking my face.

There are a few inches of visible skin between the waist of the shorts and the hem of the fitted, bralette-style crop top that wraps around my breasts and ties at the back. The structured satin holds everything in place, and I feel beautiful.

This outfit is absolutely something I would have picked for myself, and as I slide my feet into simple black Dior pumps, I start to relax, my melancholy thoughts giving way to a happy glow that has me grinning from ear to ear.

“This is perfect,” I tell Fitzy, stepping out from the screen.

“Wait,” Fitzy calls, grabbing something from a bag, then clipping a thick silver bangle around my wrist. “Yes, now that’s perfect. But I brought more options, do you want to see them?”

“No, I love this. Thank you, Fitzy,” I say, genuinely thankful for having met him.

Smiling fondly, he cups my cheek with his palm and presses an oddly paternal kiss against my forehead. His eyes wrinkle at the corners, and a sadness flashes across his face. “They don’t deserve you. But bruises will fade, and you’ll be stronger once they do,” he whispers, smiling tightly.

I nod, swallowing. “I already am.”

Releasing me, he steps back. “I’ll leave the other outfits here for you anyway. My godson has informed me that you’ll be at every must-attend event in the next few months, so I’ll drop by in a couple of days to bring you some formal options as well. Now, I need to go and stop Thorn from trying to wear pastels,” he says with a faux shudder.

Yolanda takes his place in front of me the moment he slips from the room, pinning my hair over one shoulder and touching up my lipstick. “You look hot, girl, my work here is done. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

“Thank you,” I say warmly, watching as she collects her huge wheeled case and leaves.

When I spin around, I find Gulliver lounging across the bed. I’d forgotten he was even in the room, but his eyes are hooded and watching me intently. “I have something for you,” he says, his voice smooth and polished, so unlike the way he normally sounds around me.

“Is it my old cell phone back? I know you took it,” I say with an arch of my eyebrow.

His lips break into a smile, and he rolls off the bed and closes the distance between us. “I donated that thing to a museum. They were impressed. Said that they hadn’t seen such a well-maintained antique in years.”

“It was hardly an antique.”

“It was fifteen years old,” he says, palming my neck and guiding me toward him.

Ducking out of his hold, I sidestep him. “What are you doing?” I ask.

“I was trying to kiss you.”

Earlier, I took so much comfort from his touch, but between the dress that reminded me of my sister and Fitzy’s sweet touch and sincere words, it all feels too much. Two weeks ago, I was alone, trapped in a half-life where every step I took was a lie. Now I have more people than I’ve ever had, but somehow that makes me feel even more alone, and the lifeline that Gulliver represents could either save or destroy me.

I don’t know what he sees in my eyes, but my back hits the wall as he grabs me, backing me up until I’m surrounded by him and unable to get away. “What the fuck is going on?” he growls.

“We need some boundaries. You can’t keep treating me like I’m your girlfriend,” I cry, desperately trying to hide the break in my voice.

“Fiancée,” he immediately volleys back. “I’m treating you like my fiancée.”

“I’m not your fiancée, though,” I whisper, deliberately not looking him directly in the eye, knowing that if I do, I’ll be caught in his gaze and forget my solid, sensible argument.

Instead of disagreeing, he laughs, and the sound is so low and seductive that I feel myself involuntarily shivering. “I’m done playing pretend with you. But is that what you want, Izzy? Do you want to pretend that I didn’t fuck you last night? That you didn’t wake up naked wrapped up in my arms? We can do that if you really want to. You can pretend that you don’t feel anything for me, and I can pretend that I believe you and that my dick isn’t rock-hard every time I’m near you.”

Unable to resist, my eyes lift to his, and I feel myself wavering.

“I’ll do that for you, Ghost, if that’s what you need. I’ll play pretend, or we can forget the lies and we can embrace this connection. Not everything has to be complicated, Izzy. Some things are just simple.”

The way he’s looking at me makes it impossible for me to say no, even though a part of me wants to. But I don’t think he’d believe the lie, even if I told him I didn’t want him. There’s something about the way he looks at me, touches me, and kisses me that makes me feel beautiful, and not because I look like my sister, but almost in spite of that.

I know that everything that’s happened between us started because he hates my sister, and there’s nothing but disgust in his eyes when he looks at her. But he doesn’t look at me like that, and it’s a heady feeling that I’m struggling to resist.

Simple. That’s what he’s offering me, but I don’t have any idea what that means. Does it mean that we’re just adding another thing to the ways we’re using each other?

I’ve spent too many years hidden in the shadows, and now I’m being plunged into the light, and I don’t understand the rules of this world.

The word yes is on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t quite say it.

Scoffing, he steps back, and the sound of his disappointment makes me feel nauseous, like I’ve disappointed him. Pushing his hand into his back pocket, he pulls out a black velvet box and throws it toward me. “Here.”

Catching the box, I blink, looking down at it in confusion.

“You’re supposed to open it,” he says mockingly.

Carefully, I lift the lid, revealing a fine yellow gold chain with a tiny ghost charm with amethyst eyes hanging off it.

“A little ghost, for my Little Ghost,” he says, taking the box from my hands and pulling the chain free. “It’s an anklet,” he whispers as he crouches down, running his fingers along the back of my calf before securing the adorable chain around my ankle, the tiny ghost resting on my ankle bone.

“I love it,” I whimper, my voice thick with emotion.

Tipping his head back, he looks up at me from his position at my feet, with a devilish grin spreading across his face. “I have a few suggestions on how you can thank me.” A primal growl vibrates from his chest as he bends down and presses a hot kiss to the inside of my thigh, pushing the bottom of my shorts up with his nose.

My eyes flutter closed, and I curse my inability to hold my ground with him.

“It’s time to go, Ghost. Tonight, you can think about all the reasons why you don’t want to do this with me, then when we get back, I’ll show you all the reasons why we should.”

When I blink my eyes open, he’s standing in front of me, his eyes sparkling with determination. Grabbing me roughly, he slams a possessive, branding kiss against my mouth, then pulls away a second later, a shit-eating grin on his now-lipstick-marked lips.