You're Invited(82)

“Why do you think, Kaavi? I was scared you would leave me. That you would hate me. That your family would hate me and I’d lose everyone in an instant.”

He tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear. He looked so earnest. Like a little child who got lost somewhere. It must have been hard growing up without parents. I thought about my huge house, and my mum and dad who always had my best intentions at heart, no matter how misguided they were. I was so very lucky.

“It still doesn’t excuse you lying to me, you know.”

“I know. I’m so sorry. I know. I promise this is it, okay? You’ll never find me lying to you ever again.”

And with that, he kissed me.

Not the bullshit, let’s have a show for the aunties peck. A full-on kiss. The kind we had when we were smashed out of our minds and the world around us evaporated as we stumbled into a hotel room somewhere. I let myself melt into him.

So he lied. But he also got caught. Now he owed me. And if there was one thing you learned about doing business, it was always better to be a creditor than a debtor.

He leaned me up against the wall, and I felt his hands push into the silky neckline of my dress. I reached up and bit his lip.

“God, you’re hot,” he murmured, pulling away from my mouth and trailing kisses down my jaw. “We need to get away from the crowd more often.”

“You better not fuck up my hair,” I whispered. He trailed his hands down my arms and pinned me up against the wall. I fucking hated it when he did that. He always wanted to be in control. And so did I. Maybe that was why we worked in some fucked-up way.

We heard a door slam and pulled away quickly. Just in time, too, because a waiter in uniform walked out with a crate of wine bottles.

“Sorry, madam. Sorry, sir.” He practically ran away as soon as he saw us.

“We’d better get out there, huh?”

Spencer smiled back. “Sure. I just can’t wait to do more of this, you know.”

Of course he fucking couldn’t.

I pulled my phone out and flipped the camera onto selfie mode, checking my hair and makeup. Shit. I’d have to fix my lipstick the moment we got back inside.

I had a text from Mike. Just a reply from when I texted him earlier today. But it was enough, somehow, to shake me awake.

“Hey, Spence,” I tried, making sure my voice was relaxed.

“Yes, darling?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask. There’s someone that’s reached out to our team in San Francisco about making a significant donation. I think the last name was Basket or Bassett or something like that. Is it someone you’ve managed to rope in?” I smiled widely in false gratitude.

A beat passed. Something shifted in the air.

And then Spencer smiled back.

“Nope. I don’t think so. If there’s a new donor, it’s all down to you and your brilliance.”

He offered me his arm and I took it. We made our way back inside, where I excused myself and went upstairs to touch up my makeup.

It felt nice to be alone. To be away from everyone. Even if it was for just a moment.

I smoothed back my hair and gave it a spritz of hair spray.

Then I took out my phone and texted Mike.

I need to know who Zoe Bassett is. Let me know as soon as you find anything.



It took a liar to know a liar, that was for sure. And it took a liar to know when the other liar’s mask was starting to slip.





25


KAAVI


Three Days before the Wedding


I DREAMED THAT I was standing in the grand ballroom of the Mount Lavinia Hotel. The large chandelier sparkled down, bathing me in light as I stood in front of a full-length mirror. I was alone, but I was in my Hayley Paige wedding dress. My hair hung down in loose curls. My makeup was simple, except for a bold red lip—the color of blood.

I was a vision. Completely stunning. It was a pity that I was alone. Someone else ought to see me looking this good, or it’d be such a waste. I turned around, admiring myself, when I noticed a small spot on the hem of my dress. I was bending down to look at it, when I noticed another spot, and another, and another. Little red droplets were starting to splatter on me, as I looked around, trying not to scream in frustration, trying to figure out where they were coming from.

And suddenly, there he was—a body. Dead. Stone-cold. Purple lips and gray skin. Reaching for me. Choking me, while I spluttered blood. I could smell him. Rotten fish and maggots and the rusty metal of blood.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see. My dress weighed a million pounds and held me in place—giving him full control. Letting him have his way. Letting him win.

I opened my mouth to scream, but blood leaked out of my throat. It ran down in rivulets, soaking my dress, which only grew heavier. This was the end; I just knew it.

So when I was woken up by screaming, I thought it was my own. I sat up in bed confused. No, the screams were definitely coming from downstairs.

I rolled out of bed and pulled on a robe, rushing to find out what the commotion was.

It was my mother, I realized halfway down the stairs. Oh fuck me. Don’t tell me I almost broke my neck getting down here because of one of her little episodes. The hotel probably ran out of caviar or something ridiculous like that.

But still, the house was full of relatives and friends who had flown down for the wedding, and it simply wouldn’t do to have her screeching like she’d lost her marbles.