Page 228 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
She pulls back before we maul each other in front of an audience. Our foreheads rest against one another.
“What do you want to do, Mrs. Prescott?” I ask.
Low, just for her to hear.
“Balter,” she whispers against my lips and presses another quick kiss to them.
She dances under the stars with our family, her head thrown back, absolutely no rhythm to the movement in her body. When she begs me to dance with her and promises to make it worth my while, I do.
With her in my arms and our family surrounding us, I notice something.
Above me, the lilac has taken over the sky.
Pink and purple streaks have consumed the other lights.
The underdog has won.
Nine Years Later
“I fucking swear, I can’t stand this shit.” Nash scrubs his face with his palm. He leans his head against the back of the couch, staring at our ceiling like the television's existence is an insult to him.
My eyes dart between the two twin eight-year-old demons sandwiched between us. “Language!” A half-hearted scold.
“We hear ‘shit’ all the time, Mom.” Hallie glances at me, wide eyes the same color as Nash’s. “Last week, Mrs. Kimberly was teaching us about the Egyptians trading in the Red Sea. She kept talking about their shits.”
“She meant ships.” Lawson pinches Hallie’s arms. He has my eyes. One blue. One gray. “Mrs. Kimberly can’t pronounce anything for shit through her retainers.”
I cannot believe Lawson and Hallie shared my womb at the same time without killing each other. They share the same black hair and literally nothing else. Not even the same gender. Lawson is pale and ruthless, whereas Hallie is tan and sweet.
Nash’s fingers inch toward the remote.
I dig a fist into the white cheddar popcorn and toss a handful at his face. “Don’t you dare.” The kids squeal between us as it rains popcorn. I hip-check Lawson and ask, “What do you think about the movie?”
Lawson glances at the screen and shrugs. “Cinderella’s hot, I guess.”
“Lawson, she’s eleven years older than you!”
“So? Dad’s ten years older than you.”
I shut up, because the kid’s got a point. “Hallie?”
She puckers her lips and squints her eyes at the screen as if that’ll help her form an opinion. “She’s really clumsy, but I’d want to be her. I like her dress and her shoes.”
“Unbelievable,” Nash mutters, but the kids hear him. They throw more popcorn at his face.
The front door opens and slams shut.
The kids jump off the couch and shout, “Uncle Reed!”
“Where are your kids?” Nash asks him when he enters the living room with his wife.
It’s still weird seeing Basil’s face without the permanent scowl etched onto it, but here we are. To top it off, Reed’s wife helps me run my company, a non-profit fashion line that takes recycled materials and turns them into one-of-a-kind pieces. The proceeds go to soup kitchens across North Carolina. Nash calls me a bleeding heart, but I know he likes it.
Reed presses a kiss to my temple. “Ma stole them for a few ho
urs.”
A second later, the kids whisk Reed and his wife away. Nash shuts the T.V. off the first chance he gets. His fingers meet his temple and rub. I roll my eyes at his dramatics and flick his arm.
