Lying Hearts - Faleena Hopkins

Chapter One

Annie

Twenty-three. From Downers Grove, Illinois, but I will never live there again. One more year to go at SF State. Summertime. Cannot wait for graduation.

I’m at a party. Everyone knows me. Everyone likes me. Which is weird. Like, really fucking odd. They wave and smile as I pass. That never happens to me. A group of handsome men call over with sensuous stares, “Annie, come talk to us.” But I demur with a shy smile — as if I’m capable of such a thing — and turn away, searching for him, the only one I want.

All the usual suspects from college are here, emphasis on suspect, but they’re dressed up in clothes from an era long gone by. The girls–normally in too-tight pants and bra straps sneaking out from tank tops–look gorgeous in floor-length gowns and matching long gloves. The guys–normally wearing skinny jeans and graphic T’s with sneakers–are all in tailored tuxedos, black shiny shoes, and neckcloths; those ties from the Regency period that looked like scarves.

Everyone looks incredible.

And the party itself is beautiful, too. It isn’t some lame kegger at someone’s apartment like usual, but instead a feast in a ballroom with gold-lined walls. Chandeliers so sparkly they might be made of diamonds. Delicious, mouth-watering sweets on every table. Champagne flowing from a dancing cherub fountain. An orchestra playing as people dance, everyone knowing the steps, everyone graceful. It’s magnificent… and a little creepy.

Then I see him…Brendan Clark, turned away from me, deep in conversation. With his back to me, he laughs at something one of the other men says. He rakes a hand through his dark, wavy hair and the tuxedo jacket tightens across his oh-so-broad shoulders.

He is my everything.

Turn around and see me.

As if he heard me, Brendan turns to search the room for whom or what, he does not know. I study the perfection that is his profile — the concentrated furrowing of his brows, his open lips, so full and kissable.

Our eyes meet and my breath hitches. Because he doesn’t look disgusted.

He leaves his friends to come to me, awestruck gaze drifting slowly down my body, a heat lighting up his blue eyes. It’s those which kill me most. They’re the exact color of the sky just before the sun leaves it forever. Or at least eight hours.

He extends his hand to me, palm up.

My eyelashes flutter down to look, to admire its masculine lines, to imagine it doing things to my body. My own hand floats up to his and it is not until I’ve done this that I see I’m wearing forest-green, silk gloves. Surprised, I glance down and discover I’m wearing a gown of the same shade of green, breasts cinched high and lovely atop a draping bodice of more silk.

I would never wear such a thing.

Why isn’t it black?

Why aren’t my breasts hidden?

Brendan asks, his timber deep and thick with lust, “They’re so beautiful, Annie. Why do you hide them?” He turns to the champagne fountain cascading from a cherub’s trumpet, letting crystal liquid run over his fingers until they’re good and wet. I gasp as he locks eyes with me and runs them along the soft mounds that are barely covered. He leans down and slowly licks it off, forcing hot, sensitive little points in the silken fabric.

“Oh Brendan…” I whisper.

Our lips are not quite touching. “Annie,” he smirks, heat from his breath on my lips. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“You’ve been waiting… for me? Sorry, but I’m having a hard time believing that.”

The tip of his tongue is visible, resting on his teeth.

Wait.

Is he going to kiss me?

Oh, please, Brendan.

Do it!

Can’t you see I want you to?

His lips barely brush mine. “You knew it before I did, didn’t you?”

Aching, I ask, “What did I know?”

“There are marks on us. Matching lines that fate painted on our souls so we’d find each other. Don’t you feel it?”

I should play hard to get.

I should deny it, tell him I have no idea what he’s talking about.

But that would be a lie.

And I don’t want to lie to him.

Not to Brendan Clark.

Not ever.

“I do feel it. I knew the moment I first saw you.”

His eyes darken. It’s coming now. He’s going to do it. The kiss is on its way. “Annie, it’s time to go.”

I frown, tilting my head. “What? I don’t want to go anywhere. I’m happy here. I want to be with you.”

As though he can’t hear me, he says again like a robot, “C’mon Annie. It’s time to