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

I shake my head. “I can’t do this. I am engaged.”

"Come on, Andrew. This is stupid. I know you… I know what you want,” she says. As if we haven’t seen each other in years.

As if she knows me.

As if I’d ever give her the chance to.

She continues talking. “We're both adults. We don't have to be so shy around each other. It's not like we're in high school anymore.”

I shrug.

“Oh, come on,” she says, leaning up against the wall. “You’ve had girlfriends before. You’re not the kind of guy who goes for little mousey redheads with not much style.”

“A little mousey?” I ask. “Is that how my fiancée comes off to you? A woman with more class than you've got in your left thumb? I'll take that as a compliment coming from someone still hanging onto a seven-year-old crush.”

“Andrew.” Jennifer’s face drops. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Sure, you did.” I wiggle my shirt back on and finish buttoning it up.

“You don’t have to be defensive,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

I don’t say anything, and she doesn’t move.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” I say. “Thanks for the help. But I think I’ll head somewhere else for a proper tux.”

“Wait.” She grabs my hand, but I pull it away.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I—”

“I’m engaged,” I assert again, as if she didn’t hear me the first time. “And I don’t know why the hell that feels right coming off my lips…but it fucking does. And I don’t even understand why, because this relationship isn’t even supposed to be fucking real. But it’s getting there—getting somewhere I didn’t expect, so for all intents and purposes, Jennifer… I’m going to need you to respect that. Charge your time spent helping me to my bill. Because right now, I don’t give a shit. I’ve gotta go.”

The shocked blonde reaches for me, arms outstretched, but I step back.

I'm not ready for this.

Not ready for tests when it comes to Nancy and me.

My lies are cracking at the seams.

My gorgeous little peach-haired pixie is getting under my skin, and neither Andrew Fletcher nor his former self, Lincoln, know what to do about it.

First things first…

Right now, I need to figure out why defending my engagement feels so good, when it’s not supposed to be real.

I head for the door to the shop, but then I stop, feeling frozen to the spot.

Because as soon as I step out into the light, I see the look on Sabrina's face.

Shock and hurt mixes in a confused expression on her pretty face, carving themselves into her frown.

And I feel like a pile of shit.

I should have said something. I should have taken this all back.

I should have told her the truth.

I should have done anything other than what I did.

Lied to her. Lied to everyone.

Especially myself.

Sabrina walks closer. “Now, I’m sure I’m going to regret asking this question, but…do you want to tell me what the hell that was all about?”

My heart sinks to my stomach. And there’s no way to stop it.

No way but the truth.

Fuck.

Chapter 19

NANCY

The drive from Greenwich back to Manhattan has me feeling lighter than I have in…

Well, probably, ever.

Tempted to put the top down on Sabrina’s BMW convertible, I instead stretch one hand out of a slip of the driver’s side window, lifting it towards the blue sky, relishing in the feel of the wind against my skin.

An unusually mild February morning shifts from soft rain to sunshine as I travel down the long road on Interstate 95, and I do my best to soak it all in.

Dressed in a stylish coat, lightweight sweater and distressed jeans instead of my usual skirt suit and blouse, I’m beginning to feel like someone else entirely.

Someone younger, wilder, and more carefree.

The kind of person who might have gone out on the town last night after a really successful day at the bar.

The kind of person who just had naughty sex two hours ago.

I giggle quietly to myself, the memory of my early morning with Andrew still imprinted on my body.

In some ways, I can’t believe I’m here.

At this place in my life. At this juncture, standing in the middle of a major crossroad.

My life is splitting into two, one path leading one way and the other leading somewhere else.

Two days ago was the first time in two years that I’d left the bar for anything other than to run errands or go home.

The first time in years that I’d gone out without constantly checking my phone and bar inventory.

The first time that I’d ventured outside The Alchemist’s doors without obsessing over every little detail.

There were the liquor tallies and restaurant supplies.

The budgets and the bills and the building rent.

Hiring and firing and vendors and customers.

All that comes with running a Manhattan business. All that comes with having no life of my own.

As I pull off the exit ramp, emotion builds in my eyes, blurring my vision and slowing the drive.

Stopping the car, I comb the strands of my strawberry blonde bob back, letting my head hit the leather of the steering wheel where I finally let the tears fall.

Hot, fiery rivulets run down my face and I do nothing to stop them—needing the release.

That makes twice that I’ve cried this weekend already.

And the time before that? I'm sure it was somewhere in the realm of that feels-like-there’s-a-hole-in-my-chest period when my mother died.

Seven years was a young age to take over any household when the man you believed was your father stopped giving a damn.

Sickness had taken my mom; gambling and drink ruined my dad.

My brother Deacon, a former family secret, was the only blood I had left, and though I didn’t want to disappoint him, I know he’ll be proud of me.

Proud that I’m venturing out.

Starting over.

For the first time in my life.

Restarting the convertible, I turn the car in the direction of Harlem, driving slowly.

I slow down as I pass one road after another, admiring the hardworking