Things Liars Fake: a Novella (a #ThreeLittleLies novella Book 3)(16)

Beautiful; the word lodges itself in my brain and takes root there at the same time my stomach does a summersault; an unexpected, pleased, little flip-flop.

Beautiful. No one has ever called me that before.

Cute? Yes.

Wholesome? Yes.

Girl-next-door adorable? Unfortunately.

Does Dexter think I’m beautiful, too? I’m not asking to sound conceited, but it crossed my mind after he didn’t ask me out that perhaps… he’s not attracted to me. Maybe I’m not his type. Maybe he does truly just want to be friends. Play the doting boyfriend for one night—and one night only.

“And head’s up—they all think you’re Southern, so good luck with that.”

“Trust me, I can manage to throw a few y’alls into the conversations. Give Aunt Bethany a cheap thrill.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can.” His grin is lopsided and amused.

“Sugar, y’all are in for a treat.”

Dexter clears his throat. “So she knows that, but not much else. And of course, she thinks we’ve been dating awhile. Which… I apologize for.”

I find myself saying, “It’s okay,” as we pull into the parking lot of a country club. Find myself nervously fussing with the hem of my skirt as he purposefully strides around to my side of the car after we park. Find myself go a little weak in the knees when his hand presses politely into the small of my back, guiding me towards the crowd of people inside.

And when I remove my jacket and he passes it to the coat check, that hand wraps itself around my waist.

I stiffen; but not from displeasure.

From the opposite.

Dexter notices.

“Is this okay? I think it would be weird if I didn’t touch you, don’t you?”

I do my best to nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “It’s fine. You’re right, it would be weird. I mean, if I was your… girlfriend you would touch me. Act familiar.”

He blows out a puff of air—like he’s psyching himself up. “Yes. Alright. Good.” He babbles. “Just so we’re on the same page.”

“Dexter, it’s fine. I don’t mind you touching me.” It’s going to drive my hormones absolutely ca-ray-zy but, “Truly. I don’t mind.”

Hell no I don’t mind. Not at all—quite the opposite actually.

My eyes roam back to the suspenders.

Ugh.

Excited with this new development, Dexter’s stiff arm relaxes, his hand resting on my hip. “You can call me Dex if you want. That’s what my friends and family call me.”

Nope. Not gonna do it; not when the name Dexter rolls off the tip of my tongue like the last drop of wine from a glass, and gets me hot and bothered in all the wrong places.

I shoot him a cheeky grin. “Maybe. We’ll see.”





“Is our brother romantic?” One of Dexter’s twin sisters asks, leaning on her elbows towards me as dinner plates are set in front of us by the servers. We arrived casually late and were immediately seated at a table for ten, except the rest of his family hasn’t joined us yet; it’s just myself, Dexter, and his enthusiastic little sisters.

“Tell us the truth.” The twins request at the same time, in the same playful voice.

The twins—Lucy and Amelia—are mirror image identical and almost indistinguishable; dark blonde hair, cut into jaunty, matching bobs. Identical almond-shaped eyes. Freckles across the bridge of their noses. Identical smirks with identical dimples.

You get the picture.

Tonight they’re wearing the same dress, in different colors, and watching me across the table with such intensity I squirm in my seat. It’s disconcerting and a tad bit creepy.

Especially since there’s two of them.

“Is he romantic?” I exaggerate a blissful sigh. “Yes. So romantic, aren’t you babe?” I pat his hand.

Dexter visibly swallows. “Totally.”

“Mom is right.” Lucy says. Then, at the same time, they both enthuse, “You’re much prettier than Charlotte was.”

Charlotte? Was?

“Was? Does that mean she’s…” Dead? I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence.

I’m guessing it’s Lucy who laughs. “His ex-girlfriend, silly. She was—”

“—Awful.” Amelia finishes.

“Boring.” Both twins roll their brown eyes.

“Do you like Star Wars?” Amelia asks at the same time Lucy says, “Dex likes Star Wars.”

“Charlotte hated it,” they parrot.

Dexter meets my inquisitive gaze, before silencing them. “Guys, stop with all the questions. You’re being rude.”

To their credit, both twins blush. “Sorry Daphne. We meant it as a—”

“—Compliment.” Lucy pokes at the chicken on her dinner plate before shoving it aside and crossing her arms on the tabletop. “So how is our brother romantic? Tell us. He works so much he hardly comes around.”

Amelia sets her napkin on the table and scoots her chair closer to mine. “Tell us.”

Crap. They’re like a tiny twin mafia; they’re not playing around. I’m going to have to make something up. “He, well. Dexter is…”

Amelia interrupts with a gasp. “Oh my god, did you hear that? She calls him—”