Page 3 of Once Upon a Lie

The sound of his voice cracks something open inside me—something raw and stupid and still bruised from missing him.

God, I hate that I miss him.

Anger renewed, I yank free from his hold and slap him clear across the face. Hard. My palm stings like fire, but I don’t regret it for a second—even knowing he could have stopped me if he wanted and instead let me have it. It’s too late for Mr. Nice Guy to win an award. The moment he left me high and dry, the polls closed.

Shane touches his jaw; his fingers are slow and calm, and his eyes lock tight with mine. And then, God help me, he smiles at me—like he’s proud.

“What’s wrong with you?” I snap. Anger, confusion, sadness, and heartbreak all battle for supremacy. “You string me along for weeks. You dump me in a text, vanish for days, and show up here smiling like—”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, cutting me off before I can even finish, and every hot iron in my chest turns orange with a renewed glow.

“You’re sorry?” I repeat on a shocked breath. “For what, Shane? Fucking disappearing? For dragging me along and playing at serious? For sleeping with me—”

Before I can finish my thought, he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me tight against him again. His voice is low and rough as he whispers, “For everything, Valentina.”

My mouth opens and closes like I’m a fish gasping for air. I want to yell at him. Slap him again. Punch him. Kick him. Kiss him. I want to—

A woman screams, high and shrill, from the other side of the room, startling us both. Another scream follows, and then a sharp, undeniable pop pop pop echoes off the walls of the ballroom.

“He has a gun!” someone cries out.

Chaos erupts, the couple in the red dress and tux from before bumping into my back hard and sending both Shane and me careening into the wall.

Pop pop pop.

Glass shatters. People scream. Bodies slam together.

Shane moves instantly. He grabs me and pulls me behind a marble column of the Nashville Parthenon, shielding me with his body.

More gunshots go off.

“Stay down,” he orders, voice sharp and sure. “Don’t move. Stay right here, okay?”

All I can do is nod. My heart is hammering inside my chest, and all four of my limbs feel frozen to the cool marble floor as the visual of Shane reaching inside his jacket and pulling a gun from a holster balloons a pressure in my head I can’t avoid. “Don’t move,” he says again, pressing a shocking kiss to my forehead, and then he’s gone.

Running straight into the line of fire with a gun in his hand. Nothing makes sense.

Why is there gunfire at my father’s charity gala? Why does Shane have a gun like he knew danger was coming? And why does it feel like the perfect story I imagined is rewriting itself without permission?

Maybe fairy tales don’t start with Once upon a time after all. Maybe they start with Once upon a lie.

1

Shane

Monday, September 13

7:15 a.m.

“So happy you could make it, sweetheart,” I greet my always-tardy partner, Detective Dominic Dunn, as he drops into the chair across from me, sending a mess of paperwork and a couple of old take-out boxes careening to the floor with the breeze of his entrance.

The bullpen of Nashville Metro PD, a.k.a. my home away from home, smells like the perfect blend of burned coffee, old paperwork, and the faint ghost of cigarettes from when they still allowed smoking indoors in the eighties, but I’d be lying if I said it was anything other than my favorite place in the world. I’m not just a cop; I’m a lifer.

He laughs. “Oh, come on, Shane, like Captain Leonard is ever on time for anything.” He’s got that lazy grin, the one that used to make women at Honky Tonk Parade—a bar in downtown Nashville—swoon when he was still the self-proclaimed Karaoke Cowboy, before he traded whiskey shots for diaper runs and happily ever after.

He still walks around like a rooster with his chest puffed up, but the only woman who can make him cock-a-doodle-doo now is his wife, Hannah Dunn, née May.

I roll my eyes, purposefully slide two file folders out from under Dom’s boots, and scoff.