Beneath These Lies (Beneath, #5)(85)

I wasn’t confirming or denying that fact. Tonight was about Valentina and Trinity’s art.

But the reality of it still hit me hard as I watched her work the room. No bump visible yet, but still . . . A kid. A perfect combination of me and Valentina that would probably raise hell regardless of whether it was wearing pink or blue. Not only had I escaped the shadows to step into the light, I’d gotten more than I could have ever imagined.




Hours later I lay in bed, Valentina’s head on my chest and her fingertips tracing the ink on my pecs. The picture I stole from her all those months ago hung on the wall.

“Proud of you, duchess. Really f*cking proud.”

She curled into me closer, and squeezed. “It felt good to see them all on the wall. And Trinity, you’d think she’d won the lottery.”

“Did good with that girl. You’re gonna be a hell of a mom.”

“I hope so.”

“No doubt about it.”

“When should we tell my parents?” she asked.

I slid a hand through her hair and met her gaze. “I think they already know, but maybe hold off until you tell them we’re getting married.”

Her chin jerked up as her hand stilled. “Are you proposing?”

I shook my head. “No, because that would make it a question, and there’s no doubt that it’s happening.”

Valentina’s laugh met my ears. “So you don’t want to hear me say yes?”

I rolled out from under her and pinned her to the bed. “The day we walk down the aisle is good enough for me. You want your pops to give you away and officiate?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Yes. I always wanted that. Exactly that.”

“It’s my job to give you everything you always wanted, duchess.” I lowered my lips to hers, stealing a kiss. “Since you’ve given it all to me.”

“You already have,” she whispered.

“Not yet, but I will.”

Her arms wound around my neck and squeezed. “I love you.”

“Always, duchess. Love you always.”

The End

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COUNTRY STAR JC HUGHES CAUGHT BETWEEN A COCK AND A HARD PLACE

How is he going to explain this one away to girlfriend Holly Wix and his fans?

“THAT TWO-TIMIN’ SON OF A . . .”

I hiss under my breath as I stare at the headline—and the compromising picture accompanying it—splashed in vivid color across the front page of the gossip rag displayed prominently in the checkout line at my supermarket. For the second time in two months, it’s a picture of my “boyfriend” locked in an unmistakably passionate embrace with another woman, except this time she’s wearing a giant black strap-on.

The edges of the paper crumple in my sweaty grip, and I fight the urge to tear it to shreds, along with every copy sitting on the rack in front of me.

He’s going to destroy my career before it even has a chance to become a reality.

One year, they said. One year in this joke of a “relationship” and I’d earn my stripes, be all set in the world of country music. Judge me all you want for agreeing, but when your brand-new record label puts something like that in the contract that will jet you out of the backwoods town you’re dying to escape, you don’t ask questions. You sign on the dotted line.

But reality is a cold slap in the face, and some days it hits you when you’re standing in line at the grocery store. What happens when they finally catch JC with a guy? His habit of swinging both ways, but preferring men to women, is about to become the worst-kept secret in Nashville.

I’m Holly Wix, winner of a make-me-a-star TV show, and handpicked by the label to buoy JC’s once-impressive but now flagging career. It didn’t seem like a big deal when they slipped it into my contract in the beginning. What starry-eyed girl wouldn’t be thrilled to have her name linked to a country star?

Instead of the one-way ticket to stardom I naively expected, I’m becoming the butt of every industry joke faster than the guys back home can spend their paycheck on twelve-packs and scratch-offs. But I’ve got one shot at keeping this dream career alive, and honestly, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to save it. So this situation with JC needs to get settled before things spiral further out of control.

Tugging the bill of my trucker hat lower, I glance around to see if anyone has noticed me flipping out in the checkout line. A woman behind me clucks her tongue as she pulls her sunglasses out of her baby’s mouth.

Crap.

That cluck of her tongue was aimed at me, not the toothless, blue-eyed, smiling baby. Surprisingly, though, the expression on her face is sympathetic, not angry.

“Men are *s, am I right? Being famous just makes them bigger ones.”