The Lies We Tell (The Four #1) - Becca Steele Page 0,65
this drama hanging over me.
I missed my dad, so much.
As I walked into my room to get my stuff together, my eyes went straight to the collection of star charts and posters of constellations I’d tacked up above my desk, picturing my dad in his work office, poring over the latest research papers while the posters surrounded him. I had so few tangible things to remember him by; these posters had become some of my most treasured possessions.
Below the posters I’d arranged the framed photo he’d had of the two of us in his office and his crystal ball model with the solar system suspended inside it.
I turned away and quickly packed my bag, before I could be overwhelmed with memories. I couldn’t afford to fall apart—I had to stay strong so that I could get to the bottom of whatever was going on in Alstone.
Nine fifty-eight. My phone buzzed.
Caiden: Outside.
This was the first message he’d ever sent me, and seeing his name on my phone gave me butterflies. Why, when it was a one-word message, I couldn’t say. Last night felt like it had been a dream; the whole thing was so surreal. I wasn’t sure how he was going to act around me today, but I guess it was time to find out.
Outside, I saw him leaning casually against his R8, hood up, his legs encased in dark jeans and black boots.
I licked my lips, nerves and those fucking butterflies racing through me again. “Hi.”
His eyes met mine, his expression completely unreadable, and opened his door. “Let’s go.”
I slid into the cool leather interior and snapped my seat belt into place, sighing as the engine purred to life.
“Did I ever mention how pretty your car is?”
He gave me an unamused sidewards glance as we smoothly slid out onto the road, one hand relaxed on the wheel, the other on the gearstick. “It’s not pretty.”
“Oh, it is.” I smiled and sat back in my seat, stretching out my legs in front of me. Cade huffed but didn’t say anything else.
“So what’s going on, anyway?” I ventured, as we shot down the winding road towards his house.
“The boys decided we’re going to the hotel to check it out.” He continued staring straight ahead, his hand brushing my leg as he changed gear. I shivered.
“The hotel from the photo of my mother? All of us?”
“Yeah. No. You. Me. The boys are checking out other places of interest.”
“What places?”
“Talk about it later.” His tone was clipped.
“Why not now?”
“Leave it.” He glanced over at me, and his expression softened slightly before he sighed. “We’ll talk later, okay?”
I nodded, and we lapsed into silence for the rest of the journey.
We pulled up on the driveway, and Caiden beeped once. The door opened and Cassius, Weston, and Zayde piled out of the house, throwing last-minute instructions at each other. Cassius strolled over to us and leaned in my open window.
“Morning, babe. You okay? Recovered from last night?” He smirked at me.
“Fine, thanks.” I was hyperaware of Caiden next to me, glaring over my shoulder at Cass.
“Someone get out of the wrong side of bed this morning?” Cassius raised a brow at him.
“Don’t start,” Caiden warned him. “Let’s get this over with. I have other plans for later.”
Why did I feel disappointed at his words?
Cassius straightened up and gave Caiden a mock salute, then headed over to his hulking SUV, where West was already waiting inside. They drove away, beeping the horn far too many times for a Sunday morning, and once the driveway was clear, Zayde straddled his beast of a bike, pulling his helmet over his dark hair. Snapping the visor into place, he shot off down the driveway and out of sight.
Finally, it was our turn to leave. I watched the sea as we drove along the coast road to Highnam, the car silent, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
When we reached our destination, apprehension filled me.
I climbed out of the car and stood, staring at the hotel perched on the cliff, where my mother had met the mysterious Littlefinger. A tall Victorian building, it had definitely seen better days. The cream paintwork was dirty, chipped, and peeling, and one of the windows had a spiderweb of cracked glass stretching across it, covered from the inside by what looked like duct tape.
“Okay. Let’s do this,” I muttered, pushing open the heavy wooden door and walking inside. The man behind the reception desk looked up from his newspaper as we entered.