Black Ties and White Lies(101)

She doesn’t utter a single word to me in the car. Ezra even tries to make a joke as he opens her door in front of our building and she doesn’t even crack a smile at him.

I fidget the entire elevator ride up, wondering how to even approach what happened out on that terrace. If I hadn’t been so fucking consumed with fear at the sight of Ruby at the party, I wouldn’t have ever left Margo alone. None of that would’ve happened, whatever did transpire. I hate myself for leaving her alone—at our engagement party no less.

As we walk into the penthouse, I lose the grip on patience, needing to know what happened with Carter. “I need you to talk to me, baby,” I plead. “I don’t want to make you talk about it, but I spent the entire car ride picturing all the worst scenarios about what could’ve happened. I just need to know…”

She stops in the kitchen, her hands grabbing the lip of the island. For a few agonizing moments, she just stares at me. Her eyes are full of defeat. It kills me I don’t know what put it there.

“Who was that woman you were talking to earlier tonight?”

“What?”

“The woman in the blue dress. The blonde. Did you know her?”

My jaw snaps open and close as I try to piece together what she’s getting at. My question had nothing to do with Ruby. I don’t know why she answered with a question of her own, especially one like that.

“Beck,” she pushes. “Did you know who that was?”

“Yes,” I answer. “I told you. She was just an old friend.”

“Do you know what she does for a living?”

Where the fuck is this going? A pit forms in my stomach when I come to the realization that Carter had shown up with Ruby. Maybe I should be worried on what he could’ve shared with Margo. Her line of questioning has me wondering if Carter knows more than I thought.

“No,” I lie, taking a step closer into the kitchen. “I don’t know off the top of my head.”

“You’re lying,” she accuses.

“Why are you asking?” Nerves replace my anger as my fingers fumble with the knot at my neck. In one swift motion I loosen the tie all the way, pulling it off my neck and throwing it onto the island.

“You know exactly what she is. She’s a reporter.” Her eyes go wide in realization. “But you know that already.”

I sigh in defeat. “Okay, fine. Yes, I know who she is. I don’t understand what that has to do with anything. What happened between you and Carter?”

“Would you say you and her talk a lot?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Did you pay her to run that article on you?”

My jaw drops. There it is. She knows.

Fuck me.

“No.” My answer is half-hearted, not fooling either one of us.

Margo’s eyes instantly well up in tears. She screws them together tightly, as if she’s trying to hide that they misted up in the first place.

I close between us in a few simple steps. When I try to pull her into me, she stops me. “No!” she yells. “You’re lying to me, and I want to know why!”

“Margo,” I whisper. I never thought it’d come to this. I’d planned on one day telling her the truth, but not like this. Not in this way.

Mascara streams down her cheeks as she stares up at me. I fucking hate myself for being the reason for the tears, for lying to her. It wasn’t ever supposed to happen like this.

“You did,” she confirms, biting her trembling lip. “You’re the one who did it. You knew your board would see the article and give you an ultimatum. Why’d you do it, Beck?”

My silence only angers her. It’s not that I don’t want to answer her, it’s that I don’t know how. I don’t even know how to begin to give her the answers she’s trying to force out of me.

“There’s so much you don’t know,” I answer remorsefully.

“I know everything,” she seethes. “Carter told me it all. How you saw me first, wanted me first, and you hated him because he’s the one who got me.”

“That’s a fucking lie,” I spit. I want to grab her and make her listen to me, but her body only just stopped trembling from whatever the fuck happened with my brother. I don’t want to do anything to startle her, even if my entire body needs to feel her skin against mine. To know she’s still here with me.

She laughs sadly. “God, I can’t even believe you when you say it is because you’ve been lying to me this entire time. You just couldn’t handle him having something you wanted, could you, Beck? Did you ever really want me or was it that you knew it’d piss him off to see me with you?”

“Of course I fucking wanted you!” I shout angrily. “I wanted you from that moment you walked into that grimy fucking bar! You were wearing that terrible NYU sweatshirt, the one from that picture you had in your room. You were the least dressed up person there, and I couldn’t stop fucking looking at you.”

Her chest heaves. “And then what? Your brother spoke to me first and you couldn’t get over the fact I was his?”

“You were never his,” I hiss. “You were always meant to be mine.”

“I’m not fucking property!” she screams, shouldering past me.

I follow her into the dining room, not letting this conversation end until I’ve come all the way clean.