the playing the part drag down the person playing it.”
I supposed that was good advice. Only I hated it, and decided right then and there I wasn’t going to listen to it. What was more, even though I had no business whatsoever thinking I knew anything at all, everything inside of me was screaming that Zeke shouldn’t be living like that either. “What about authenticity?”
“We’re pretending to date to piss off your father. What about it? Should we really be speaking about being authentic right now?”
He was right, and it killed my mood. Plummeted it right to the ground. I took another bite of my cheese, and it did nothing to make me feel better. I was a liar. I’d always been truthful. Lied to myself? Sure. I hadn’t known until I absolutely did how much I hated Kit, but the second I did? I’d done something, albeit a dramatic over the top something, about it. Hell, I’d been a liar before this even started. I did it every time I went out the door dressed from head to toe in an outfit I hated just because it was expected of me. Play the part of the socialite. Or maybe it wasn’t playing a part. Maybe I was lying to myself by thinking there was any chance that I could be something else.
At least if I’d married Kit, it could have continued. I’d have done what I should have, and sure, he would have been half out of his mind and inattentive, but that was what regular trips to rehab could have been for. There would have been children at some point, and despite the fact that Zeke scoffed at them, they were something I wanted more than anything. Although that could be a mistake, too.
I might be the worst mother there ever was. I had no example of one to draw on. Not even a bad one. Totally absent from my life because she took too many pills.
“Layla.” His voice was low. “I…”
I waved my hand. He was right. One hundred percent that way. And he wasn’t the only one who could pull off a fake smile. I was horribly good at it. But then again, I was a practiced liar. And I’d do that with Zeke until I could get on with my life, whatever that looked like. He’d made me a deal, and I’d stick to it. In the end, we’d both win.
It couldn’t kill something inside of me that was already dead or had never lived to begin with.
“This is a lovely wine. You do seem to like red wine. Is that your favorite?” Benign nothing conversations were easy. I barely had to listen to his responses. I’d float away to la-la land like I always did.
“Layla.” His voice was gruff, and I ignored it. Men could be managed. I’d learned that early. I just had to stay pleasant.
“Maybe when you retire, you should open a vineyard. Don’t a lot of ex-businessmen do that? Not that you yourself would be out there growing the grapes. But you put your name on it. The marketing. I can really see it for you.” I sipped the wine again. It was lovely. Not as fierce as the last one, but still very tasty. “Or will you be the yachting kind of retiree?”
Chapter Eleven
“Okay.” He set down his glass with a clunk. “Normally, I’d have more wine right now because you’re right, this is quite good. But I never have more than one if I’m driving my motorcycle. So you drink more, since you’re playing pretend-like-you’re-not-pissed-at-me. It helps.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know that I have any interest in being pissed at you. We might want to get the check. It’s going to take me most of the afternoon to look right for tonight.”
“No, it won’t. You’re stunning. I bet it takes you under an hour to get ready.” He didn’t seem thrilled to be delivering that statement by the way he spoke with his jaw clenched. “Finish your cheese. You like it. And we have a salad coming, so we’re not going to be going anytime soon.”
“I know I’m a liar.” I couldn’t leave it alone if we were going to be sitting here for some time to come. “But I had this idea that I could start over from a place of truth, and yes, it upsets me to have you pointing out that I’ve already failed. I’m a liar. I’ll always be a liar. And I suppose I