The Lie by Natalie Wrye (most inspirational books of all time .txt) 📗

on, heading towards the kitchen with a covered plate of goods.

“Oh my. That looks yummy,” Bri exclaims.

I frown. “You can’t even see what food is underneath.”

“I wasn’t talking about the food. I was talking about the man,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious conclusion on earth. “I’ll be right back.” She shoots us another blinding smile.

“Your room is the last one on the left.” She points up the stairs. “Enjoy.”

And then she’s off, heading in the direction of the already gone caterer, her steps swift over the hardwood floors.

I turn to Nancy.

“So, that’s Sabrina?” She asks softly.

“Yes, that is Sabrina. Ignore her. I used to all the time.”

“I’d find that very hard. She’s a spitfire.”

I glance down, eyes roaming over her face. “Reminds me of someone else I know.”

Her face, rounded and innocent, turns a slight shade of peach, and I remind myself to concentrate on the weekend ahead. I clear my throat.

“Come on. I’ll show you to our room.”

“Our room?” Nancy repeats.

“Yes.” I peer over. “Our room. We’re supposed to be engaged, remember?”

“How could I forget?”

I start walking. “Now, I know I won’t be as good company as the demon cat Domino. But if you give me a chance… I might surprise you.”

I start for the stairs, only now realizing that Nancy’s hand is still in mine, our fingers interlocked as we begin to ascend the spiral staircase.

I try not to stare.

She hasn’t broken the hold. And neither have I.

Her skin feels soft—silk-like beneath my fingers, and not for the first time, I wonder how soft the rest of her must feel.

Pink lips slightly agape, green eyes gazing around in wonder, my former boss is the face of naivety—wild-eyed and unassuming in a place that might gobble her alive.

There was a game the rich played in each other’s company—the Fletchers, in general.

I wonder if I’ve prepared enough for this trip. If I’m prepared enough for this trip.

If I have the will to stop having these invasive thoughts.

Nancy turns to me. “And you haven’t seen Sabrina in seven years, you said?”

“That’s right.”

“And she’s acting like she just saw you yesterday.”

I blink. “Of course. To act like she hasn’t seen me for the better part of the decade would be to admit that something’s wrong in the family. And we don’t do that. Admit that there’s anything wrong with our legacy.” I keep walking. “We like to live the lie.”

“Nice to know we won’t be the only ones pretending this weekend,” Nancy whispers, eyes circling into saucers.

I tug her closer. “You’ll do fine.”

She glances over at me without blinking. “Really?”

“Really.” I affirm. “Now let’s get you settled in.” I keep walking up the steps, holding her hand tighter. “We’ve got a long weekend ahead of us.”

—

NANCY

Long weekend ahead of us is right.

I’m currently in a room that could double as a hotel suite. A hotel suite that could fit my Harlem apartment in it twice over.

I’ve passed by a study, a gym, a library…an indoor pool.

This place is like its own city, fitted with everything anyone could ever need, and as Andrew leads me down the long, whipped cream-colored hallways, I get that “Dorothy” feeling again—the one that says a tornado is heading my way any second now.

Especially when Andrew sets my bag on the floor and heads to a closet complete with outfits in every color, every size.

He glances back at me, my face probably giving off vibes that I’m in the middle of a stroke. I close my mouth.

“Those—” I can barely say the words my throat is so dry. “Those aren’t all for me, are they?”

Drew blinks sweetly. “Well, who else would they be for?”

“I don’t know. The movie star your family had over for breakfast the other day? I don’t know. Just—How…? Why—?”

Andrew cuts me off, turning. “The Fletchers don’t do anything that’s not in style. Only a few guests are actually staying in the main house. Aunts. Uncles. Direct descendants. Grandchildren.” He puts his hands in his jean’s pockets, strolling closer. “And since you’re engaged to one of the beloved grandchildren, you get full perks.”

“Do those perks come with a private jet? A gilded bathtub? Trips to Aspen?”

“Maybe. You could ask.” He shrugs. And for a second, I worry that he’s serious. He looks like he might be.

But more than that, he looks like he’s embarrassed.

Amongst the perfect eggshell-colored walls and perfect cotton linens of our room, he looks for the first time unsure of himself.

Like he doesn’t fit.

With his leather jacket, broad shoulders and messy brown hair, I’m not sure he does. Beneath a light layer of winter clothes hiding the tattoos and bad boy beneath, there is a person I’ve never seen up until this point.

A person embarrassed by all this. All the grandeur.

The opulence.

I see Andrew as I’ve never seen him before.

The odd man out. The outcast.

The begrudging billionaire.

It’s almost adorable. And I relax my shoulders, soaking in my surroundings with a pivot as I circle the room.

“This is a great place.”

“Sabrina will be glad you think so.”

“What do you think?” I direct to him. And comes closer, seeming to consider the question itself. He shrugs.

“I think it’s overdone. I think the entire situation’s overdone. This wedding. This will reading hoopla. If it weren’t for my grandmother, I never would have come…”

“Your grandmother?” I blink, freezing to the spot. “But I thought she was—”

“She is.” Andrew cuts in. “But she has specific wishes. Specific wants for us. I want to honor those…for once.”

He slides out of his jacket, hanging it in the closet with more clothes than it can seem to fit. He reaches out for mine, holding out his hands.

But when I go to take off my peacoat, he stops me, circling my body.

His body language reads impatient. But his hands— God, his hands—they’re gentle as they rest on my shoulders, careful.

He rests his fingertips on my collarbone and before I can say another word, he’s tugging, pulling slowly to ease the peacoat from my body, his breath a warm