Page 4 of Bitter Lies

When our server places our food, along with a teapot and two teacups on the table, Jen nods and smiles. I know my face must be saying what the fuck, and it only grows as she pours and hands one to me.

“Let this help you forget your day and not give a damn.” Lifting her drink, she takes a sip. “Damn, that’s some amazing shit. So, what should I call you?”

Picking up my teacup, I take a sip and smack my lips together, surprised. “Damn. A few more of these and I’ll be up there singing karaoke. Trust me, no one wants that. Call me Izzy. That’s what my friends call me. And after a night out drinking this, we’ll quickly become friends.”

Shoving a bite of lasagna into her mouth, Jen points her fork at me and mumbles. “So, tonight’s goal is to get you up on that stage? Good to know. You should understand I love a challenge.”

“Never. Gonna. Happen,” I say with confidence.

One Humpty Dumpty teapot later, and I’m eating my words.

Note to self: never challenge Jen.

Mic in my hand, I own the stage like I’m a world-famous singer, belting out one of the worst renditions of Love is a Battlefield. Tomorrow, when I rewatch it—after it’s gone viral—I’ll regret letting her drag me up here.

But you only live once, right?

Years of strict rules prevented me from experiencing such carefree happiness. When the opportunity arises, I often get carried away. A phone call will come in the morning, reminding me how everyone’s always watching, waiting for me to mess up. It’s a hard thing to forget when it’s been drilled into your head since birth.

It won’t just be one of my brothers calling. My maternal grandparents are just as bad, if not worse. They love bringing up the sacrifice my mother made when she married my father, King Ramon.

Like I could ever forget. Which is why I do my best to hit that high note, miss it completely, and don’t bloody care. Because, well, this is my life, and I’m so over always doing the right thing.

Chapter 2

Aiden

My ears beg the beautiful woman at the mic to stop before we all go deaf. God may have gifted her with looks, but not the talent to carry a tune. Someone should intervene before she further humiliates herself, for all our sakes.

Not me.

I don’t trust myself.

She’s the type of woman I go for when on the prowl. Beautiful, spunky, and drowning her inhibitions in enough alcohol to let her guard down.

And that ends badly for both of us. Her more than me, I suppose. She doesn’t come across as a woman who fancies a one-night romp. Despite her impromptu performance on stage, I get the impression she’s not an act first and worry about the rest later kind of gal. The men she goes for are safe, willing to put in the work it takes to keep her happy. I highly doubt she’d be into a guy who’s only in it for the moment, seeking nothing but a quick, meaningless fuck.

On the outside, I may appear to have my shit together; the truth is I’m fucked beyond help. I can’t offer her what she should expect, even if I want to. A couple of nights of casual sex is all I’m good for. A woman as stunning as she deserves more than a knobhead like me.

Maybe in another life or time, but not in this one. Not tonight.

Just as I’m ready to ditch this smoky, overcrowded pub, I spot my cousin Jen wildly applauding the singer’s final bow. No surprise there. Jen enjoys pushing boundaries and bringing others along for the chaotic ride. Her job at hospital is stressful, so it’s good she blows off steam and gets out.

The insistent buzzing in my pocket, an irritating pulse against my thigh, pulls my attention away from them. Expecting this call, I step outside where it’s quieter.

“Give me a second.”

“Where are you?”

Pushing the backdoor open, I step into the alleyway. “I’m still in Oxford. Decided to stick around after my visit with the dean at your daughter’s school.”

“How did that go?” Silas Doyle asks.

Silas is my boss. Maybe not directly, but close enough. He’s the son of the big boss, and when he calls, I answer.

We came to Oxford today because there was a fire at his daughter’s boarding school. After picking her up from hospital, Silas sent me to speak with the dean. He expected answers, so he sent me, the man he trusted would get them.

“The fire marshal was there. I convinced him to let me have a look around.” Leaning against the brick building, I gaze up at the night sky. The scent of rain hangs in the air, and I don’t want to get soaked. “We agreed it was faulty wiring. Looks like a rat thought building her nest in the wall was a wise idea. There were frayed wires and dead babies. The best guess is that it chewed through enough to expose the live wire, sparking a chain of events. The damage was minimal.”