Tangled Kisses (Tangled Vines #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Reese

H e is not worth the murder charge. Breathe in. Breathe out. Try not to kill the man.

If only it were that easy.

From a distance, it looks like idle chatter—my fiancé and some slim redhead. But I know his tells: a grasp of the wrist as he drags his fingers down to press her palm, bent head as he leans in, murmuring some wildly amusing anecdote in her ear.

I know, because he used them all on me. And like the idiotic twit that I am, I fell for them—and for him.

Trust me, I always had my suspicions. I’m not naive. Vander Hale has an insatiable appetite for beauty—and a fiancée doesn’t curb his hunger.

“Miss? Which do you prefer? The Winterberry or the Spring Ivy pattern?” The salesgirl’s chipper voice scrapes across my nerves.

I cut my gaze to her, forcing a smile as I suck in a sharp breath through my nose. “Well, that depends, doesn’t it?”

“Personal preference is always important.”

A humorless laugh slips out. “Here’s my question—do either of these patterns scream lying, cheating son-of-a-bitch to you?”

The color drains from her face as she shifts nervously. “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me. And you know exactly who I’m referring to. So, I’ll ask again—” I tilt the plate in my hand, weighing it like a weapon “—which of these seems more appropriate for a philandering lech?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean?—”

I release a sharp grunt and jab the plate through the air, pointing toward Vander and his flavor of the week. “Stop with the innocent act. He’s standing right over there, flirting with one of your co-workers. Do you need me to move closer to point them out?”

Her knuckles blanch around her clipboard. “I know who you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do,” I mutter, my mouth twisting into a smile that belies the rage swirling in my chest. “And this isn’t the first time you’ve seen them together, is it?”

“Miss, it’s not my place?—”

“Oh, but it is. Because I’m the foolish sap prepared to marry him. Along with spending an obscene amount of money on this overpriced crap.” I rest my elbows on the counter, flashing her a sickly-sweet grin. “Since you don’t have a style preference, maybe you’ve got an opinion about durability?”

Her brow creases. “It’s a plate. They’re both made of bone china.”

“But if I hurl this five-hundred-dollar plate hard enough, will it knock my fiancé’s head clean off his shoulders or just maim the adulterous bastard?”

She leans closer, her voice low. “It happens all the time.”

Drumming my fingers against the glass, I click my tongue. “Meaning adultery or my fiancé screwing the cute salesgirls?”

Her gaze flickers—just for a second—toward Vander. It’s all I need.

Not guilt. Not shock. Just pity.

The kind reserved for the poor fiancée who’s always the last to know.

My chest hollows out. Of course, she knows. They all know. Beautiful little salesgirls in luxury department stores are his playground. And me? I’m the idiot picking out china patterns while half the staff can swap stories about how my fiancé fucks.

Her mouth parts, and I catch the flicker of something soft in her gaze.

I straighten, pacing a slow line in front of the counter.

I’m a good girl. The calm one. The one who keeps her shit together no matter what. That’s me. But that ends now.

I stop and flick my fingers in a small circle toward her face, baring my teeth in a smile. “That look—what is it? Sympathy? Some girl’s girl solidarity because fucking another woman’s man is wrong. Or is it terror, because you’re standing in front of the fiancée of the man you fucked?”

Her face flames, and she takes a step back, unable to meet my eyes.

Bingo.

“You’re an even worse liar than you are a salesgirl, and that is saying something.” I grind my teeth as five years of fury threatens to explode out of me.

Years of pretending I didn’t notice the lipstick on his collar or the hint of perfume that clung to him after a night out with the boys.

Years of swallowing the humiliation every time I walked into his country club and caught the admiring glances that followed him as he strolled by in a custom-made suit and a vintage $50,000 Rolex. A striking man with the pedigree and portfolio to open every door.

When you possess the money and power of the Hale family, you needn’t ask permission or forgiveness.

Silly me, I thought love mattered, but in high society, it’s secondary at best.

And so am I, it seems.

I lean in, my voice dropping to a purr sharp enough to cut glass. “I hope you had a better time in bed with him than I ever did. Unless, of course, you enjoy being rutted from behind—his favorite move. That one’s a classic.”

Her face twists, betraying a flicker of recognition.

I let out a brittle laugh, shoving a hand through my hair as if I could scrub the fury out of my scalp. “Oh yes, you know that one well, don’t you?”

The salesgirl swallows hard, eyes darting nervously to the nearest customers. “Miss, please—keep your voice down. You’re attracting attention.”

I cross my arms, tapping my foot against the tile in quick, sharp beats.

“Forgive me. I would never want to embarrass you.” My hand flicks toward her, cutting the air like punctuation.

“Though I imagine it’s far more embarrassing to be outed as one of his many flings.

I wonder what your boss will have to say about it.

Or is fucking your VIP clientele considered standard for your position? ”

Her terrified whimper carries across the showroom, and Vander’s head snaps up, his gaze cutting toward me.

I have only a few moments before he strides over and takes control of the situation.

Mere seconds to determine the course of my life.

One path keeps me on the straight and narrow, marrying into one of the wealthiest families on Long Island, complete with a Hamptons summer home and glitzy parties in the city.

The other path burns it all down.

So many choices, so little time.

I grip a dish in each hand. My pulse races, but my smile never falters.

“Let’s see what these bad boys are made of. At five hundred apiece, you’d expect durability,” I murmur, lifting the plates.

Then I give the plates a shake and cut my gaze to the sharp corner of the glass counter.

The pretty little salesgirl’s eyes widen. “Miss, don’t?—”

Too late.

The Winterberry shatters against the counter in a glorious crash, shards spraying like confetti. Shocked whispers ripple through the showroom.

Vander is on the move. Who knew it was so easy to disturb his latest mating ritual?

But I’m nowhere near done.

“Hmm, clearly crap.” My tone is cool, controlled, even as adrenaline races through me. “Let’s give Spring Ivy a go, shall we?”

Before the salesgirl can move, I smash the second plate down. It splinters at my feet, bone china reduced to bone dust.

I click my tongue, surveying the wreckage. “Seems they’re both overpriced and overvalued shit. Don’t you agree?”

The entire showroom falls silent, save for Vander’s footsteps as he rushes over to survey the damage.

He grabs my elbow, his grip firm. “Reese, sweetheart, what’s gotten into you?” His palm brushes against my forehead as if checking for a fever. “Are you sick? This isn’t like you.”

The picture of concern. The doting fiancé.

To the huddled masses, I look hysterical. And normally, I would care—because appearances matter. Just ask Vander and his high-dollar family.

You never expose lies and scandals in public. You cover them with bribes and empty promises.

But I’m done pretending.

I know the truth.

Because while his smile is soft for our audience, his grip on my elbow tightens with every second, and his whisper carries a dagger of warning. “You’re making a scene. Everyone is staring. What is wrong with you?”

It’s his first and only warning.

Cut the shit now or pay the consequences later.

I jab my finger into his chest. “You are what is wrong with me. You and all your fuck buddies here in housewares. What I don’t understand is why you’d shit where you eat?”

“Excuse me?”

“Is everyone hard of hearing around here?” My voice rises with every syllable. “You heard me. Why take me shopping for our wedding at the same store where you’ve fucked half the staff?”

The fury dances in his charcoal-gray eyes, like a fire about to explode into an inferno.

Despite his overtly kind public facade, I’ve embarrassed him, which means I’m in big trouble. Huge. And Vander doesn’t forgive humiliation. Not in private, not in public. Especially not from me.

Hell, this might even earn us a blip on Page Six.

Wouldn’t that be delightful?

“You’re obviously confused. I know you’re exhausted.” He grips my hand, squeezing my fingers like a vise. “Time to get you home so you can rest.”

Perfect. To them, he’s the patient man handling his overwrought bride-to-be. To me, he’s tightening the noose.

I wrench myself free and dust my hands together as if knocking off crumbs. “Don’t worry. I’m going.” I pat his chest, earning the faintest growl under his breath. “You stay. Have fun with your little redhead.”

His smile freezes, his jaw tense as he leans in close. “Stop it, darling .” The three words grate through clenched teeth, sharp enough to cut.

“Don’t be mad.” My voice drips strychnine disguised as sugar. “I’ve always known. I’m just tired of pretending I don’t.”

I glance at the salesgirl, motioning toward the shards of dishes surrounding her.

“Vander will gladly cover the damages. Perhaps give you a little something extra for your trouble. Won’t you, darling ?”

I sling my purse over my shoulder and walk out without looking back.

Where’s a green light when you need one?

A green light forces my hand, daring me to follow through on the hasty decision I made only minutes earlier.

A red light gives me time to linger, ruminate, second-guess. And trust me, my brain is a washing machine of turbulent thoughts, spinning on an endless cycle.

I grip the steering wheel, staring at the steady red glow. A quick glance in the rearview confirms I’m the only car in line. The only one waiting to escape.

I could turn around.

Still red.

Throw the car in reverse, march back inside, apologize, eat crow. Call it a pre-wedding meltdown, promise it won’t happen again.

Still red.

Continue with the wedding plans, keep smiling, ignore the gnawing in my gut every time I look at him.

Still red.

Pretend I don’t see the smirks on countless women’s faces, the ones who’ve already had him.

Fuck. That.

When the light finally flips to green, I press the accelerator and pull onto the street.

Where am I going?

No idea.

Anywhere is better than here.