Page 37 of The Lie

I narrow my eyes at him. “Enlighten me.”

“Because you said it yourself. Poppy doesn’t do the whole damsel-in-distress thing. She’s the kind of woman who’ll ask for help if she needs it.”

I drag a hand down my face. “You’re right,” I admit. That’s exactly what I told him because it was the truth, and then I went ahead and did it anyway. She’d already said no to the proposal I offered.

“Don’t feel bad, big brother,” he says, reaching out to squeeze my shoulder. “You just pulled a classic Bennett. You can’t help who you are.”

“I’m not sorry for what I did. She was fucking drowning in debt and barely keeping her head above water.”

“For what it’s worth, you did a good thing, give her time, I’m sure she’ll come around.”

“You think?”

“You’re a good man. Your heart was in the right place.”

I shrug. “I have my moments.”

Nolan chuckles. “Damn right you do. I reckon you’re the only bloke in Australia who got dumped for being too financially responsible.”

“Fuck off, cock.”

“Can I ask why you kept the car?”

I tilt my head back and groan. He just had to go there. “It’s not like I can drive past her place in my yellow Lamborghini, is it?”

He barks out a laugh. “So you’re stalking her now? Fuck, you’ve got it bad.”

“I’m not stalking her,” I snap. “She leaves for work before sunrise and gets home after dark. I’m just making sure she arrives home safely.”

Nolan snorts, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he rocks back on his heels. “And that right there is the kind of shit people say right before a judge grants a restraining order.”

Chapter 14

Poppy

Relief settles over me when I cross the front lawn and spot another bouquet waiting on the front porch.

When the flowers first started arriving, it hurt. It still hurts, but with each passing day, a different kind of fear has crept in. That they’ll stop altogether. That Bennett will finally decide I’ve made my point and walk away.

Today’s delivery is a beautiful bunch of white tulips wrapped in crisp white paper. The card is tucked neatly beneath the satin ribbon.

I carry them inside and head straight to the kitchen, pulling a glass vase from under the sink.

I still haven’t read any of the cards that have accompanied the flowers because I’m worried about what I might find. What if his words are hollow or generic? Carefully chosen without ever really understanding why I’m so upset?

I’ve come to know him over the past month. Or at least I thought I had. But do I actually know the real Bennett Sinclair? Is he the beautiful, caring man who made my Nanna smile just because he could? The one who looked after me in the days after she passed, without ever making it feel like a burden? Or is he exactly what this started as, polished, controlled and fake?

I fill the vase with water, unwrap the tulips, and set them inside, adjusting the stems until they sit just right. When I’m done, I carry them through to the dining room and set them alongside the others.

None of the arrangements are the same, and it feels like each one was chosen with care. They’re not the kind of extravagance his money could easily buy, but something more personal. Like he actually thought about me and what I’d like when he picked them.

I pluck the first card from the envelope before I can talk myself out of it, holding it longer than necessary as I gather the courage to turn it over and read the words I’ve been avoiding.

Poppy,

I know an apology isn’t enough, but it’s the best place to start. So for what it’s worth, sweetheart, I’m sorry.

Bennett.