Page 95 of Once Upon a Lie

“You’ve been staying busy this week,” she says lightly, like it’s an observation, not an accusation.

“Yeah,” I answer. “Busier than I’d like, that’s for damn sure.”

It’s not an all-out lie. I’ve been pretty fucking busy trying to keep my distance from her despite the fact that she’s all I can think about.

“Oh, trust me, I know.” She laughs. “I think every professor at Vanderbilt has had exams this week, and the caffeine and bagels that have been needed to survive them has kept us so busy. This is the first time I’ve felt like I might need to hire another employee.”

“Sounds like business is booming,” I muse, and she snorts.

“Booming me right to an early grave, maybe.”

I chuckle and help her plate the food and carry everything over to the bar-top that serves as my kitchen table.

My first bite of lasagna convinces me this woman could open any type of food business and succeed. “Fuck. That’s good, Teeny.”

“I know,” she says around a mouthful of her own.

I love that she doesn’t doubt herself. I guarantee that’s one of many reasons why The Hole Story has become such a staple in Nashville, but the downside of her quiet confidence is how much she trusts the way she feels about me.

We’re halfway through our plates when she glances over her shoulder, spotting my copy of Fourth Wing on the coffee table in my living room. Immediately, she whips her head back to mine. “So . . . any more reading progress?”

“I’m about halfway through.”

Her eyes go wide in surprise. “Really?”

“Really.”

She squeals and claps her hands. “I can’t freaking wait until you finish it and we can do, like, a book club night together.”

“You never said there was a required book club. Just required reading.”

“Shane, by the way, there will be a required book club night after you finish it.” She shrugs. “There. Consider yourself updated.”

I laugh. “Okay. I’ll pencil it in for a couple weeks from now.”

“Weeks?” she shrieks.

“Yes! Weeks. I’m enjoying it—a lot more than I thought for a romance novel—but I’m still in the English class that needs a little more help.”

She snorts. “It’s romantasy.”

“Huh?”

“Technically, it’s a romantasy, a subgenre of romance. You said romance novel, and I was just— Never mind. When you finish, we’ll book club.”

“Pretty sure you’re the only woman who could make me willingly book club.”

She leans toward me and presses a soft kiss to my lips. “Good. I want to be the only woman.” She leans back and quirks a brow at me. “Am I the only woman, Shane?”

“Yes.” I nod, hating myself for how true it is. Not because I’m the kind of man who likes to cheat but because Valentina Cordone is the very last woman on this earth that I should be falling for, and I’m five hundred miles in on a dead-end monogamy highway.

There’s no turning back, even if I die in a fiery crash at the end.

“Good.” She kisses me again. “Because you’re the only man for me.”

Her words are both a balm and a knife to the chest.

She sets her fork down, takes my fork out of my hand, and rounds the counter to stand between my thighs. Her hands come up first—slow, deliberate—and rest against my chest.