The Truth About Unspeakable Things by Emily Myers (people reading books txt) 📗

“Emma,” Kat says, taking my hands. “Take a deep breath. You look beautiful and you deserve to feel beautiful. Now, here’s your clutch. It has your phone, notepad, and pen, and a few touch-up items,” she says, handing me the small, gold bag. “Go be the kick-ass woman you are.”

“Thanks, Kat,” I say with a smile. “Bye, Grey,” I yell, though our darling cat-child is nowhere to be found.

I open the door and nearly faint as Julian stares back at me. He stands just outside our gate, dressed in a tux. Behind him is a black town car with a driver standing by.

“What the?” I ask, turning toward Kat.

She stands behind me, cheeks glowing.

“Every southern princess deserves her prince,” she says with a nod in Julian’s direction.

Kat re-enters our home and closes the door behind her. The wrought-iron squeaks and Julian approaches. I fight through my nerves to face him.

“H-hi,” I stammer.

“Hi,” he says as he approaches.

He looks sexier than ever in his all-black tux. And for the first time since meeting him, he’s wearing cologne. It’s almost as intoxicating as his natural musk.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, making my way down the porch steps.

“Kat was concerned when you went straight to your room last night,” he says. “She came over this morning and demanded to know what I’d done to upset you. I told her I didn’t think I was the man making you so upset.”

My cheeks blush in embarrassment. “I . . . I—”

“There’s no need to apologize or explain,” he says, reaching for my hand. “I had the most amazing night with you, Emma Marshall.”

His icy eyes melt into mine.

“And I’d like to continue where we left off, if that’s alright with you?” he asks.

“Well, not right where we left off,” I say, stepping into his embrace. “But it would mean a great deal if you’d accompany me tonight.”

“I would love nothing more,” Julian responds.

* * *

We reach Jackson Square just as the sun sets. French lanterns illuminate the walkways. Each corner of the garden is filled with art exhibits underneath canopies of string lights.

“You know, as happy as I am to have you here,” I say to Julian. “This is a work event for me. I’ll have to interview a few people.”

“Of course,” Julian says, moving his hand to my low back. “You can pretend I’m not even here, as long as I’m the one who kisses you goodnight.” His remark makes me smile.

“That you will,” I tell him. “That you will.”

Julian makes his way to the bar to get us both a glass of wine and I scope out the art scene.

Each corner of the park represents a different artistic style. There’s a Contemporary corner, one for Eastern and Western art, respectively, and my favorite, the local station.

“Oh, wow,” I mumble.

This year’s centerpiece for local art is a mural of Jackson Square created entirely with beads from New Orleans’s Mardi Gras parades. Every year, there are thousands of beads left in the streets. The mural represents both New Orleans culture and sends a message about the importance of recycling plastics. I open my clutch and search for my phone to take a photo.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Though, not nearly as beautiful as you.”

My skin turns to ice at the familiar voice. He places his hand on my exposed shoulder and wraps his arm around me. To my left stands Beauregard Thomas.

Everything in me begs me to run, but my body is frozen, despite his burning touch.

“Stay calm,” he tells me as he examines the mural. “I’m not going to hurt you, though I won’t extend the same courtesy if your little boyfriend approaches me.”

Julian! No, no, no. Beaux will kill him or at least try!

“Let’s talk—in private,” Beaux whispers into my ear. His breath is hot against my delicate skin. “Mmm,” he moans. “You smell good.”

I gasp at his proximity. My body shakes as he leads me away from the party. I can’t cause a scene. I can’t drag Julian into this. Besides, he still doesn’t know . . .

“Now, that’s better,” Beaux says. Once we’ve made it out of the square onto the adjacent sidewalk, he lets me out of his grasp. Regaining my strength, I take it as an opportunity to put distance between us. I never want his hands on me again.

“What are you doing here, Beaux? What do you want?” I ask. I’m surprised I’m even able to speak. This can’t be real, but it is. Too real.

“What I want?” Beaux asks, taking off his mask. The string has left a crinkle in his slicked back, blonde hair. “What I want is to know what you want?” he says, adjusting his tie.

“What? What are you talking about?” I ask. His calm nature is scaring me. I’ve grown so accustomed to his dark side.

Beaux exhales and leans up against the wrought-iron fence separating us from the party, from Julian. I have half an idea to turn and run, but I don’t imagine I’d get very far in this twenty-pound dress and heels. Besides, it’s unlike Beaux to seek me out. He made it very clear the last time we saw each other that I was dead to him and he has long been dead to me.

“What do you expect will come of your little meeting with Clarissa James?” he finally asks.

His words take me aback. How does he know about that? I made sure to choose an attorney who has no connection to Beaux’s firm. I even paid a cash retainer for fear of my credit card being hacked. He can be resourceful when he wants to be. I guess I had no idea how resourceful.

“Beaux,” I say, backing further away from him. “That meeting is not what you think. It has nothing to do with you,” I lie.

“Well, of course it doesn’t,” Beaux says. He pushes off the fence to close the distance between us.

“Ah!” I gasp, nearly tripping in retreat.

“Nothing happened between us, Emma,” he says, towering over me. I back