Page 77 of Twisted Truth

The front door closes, and Matthew whips his attention away from me. “You’re cutting it pretty damn close,” he grumbles at Asher as he steps into the living room space. “We have to leave in fifteen minutes. Hurry and go shower!”

Asher gives the team a quiet greeting, but doesn’t spare me a glance as he makes his way past us and into his bedroom. My high of a moment ago deflates. Asher’s ghosted me all day, and now he’s just ignored me again. Am I being paranoid? Or has he just been busy today?

Matthew’s sharp eyes miss nothing, and he raises his brow at me. I shrug as my stomach knots. I have no idea what is going on with Asher.

Fifteen minutes later—it’s really not fair that Asher is ready and looking impeccable in that time—we’re ready.

“Okay, one last check before we go,” Matthew says. “Asher, Ella, stand together like you practiced last night.”

Asher’s jaw is tight as we make our way toward one another in the foyer. He slips his hand around my waist, and I wrap my hand around his back and side.

“Gorgeous,” Katya says. “The two of you are stunning together.”

“Yes,” Matthew agrees. “But remember. Warm. Comfortable. I know this is new for you, Ella, and it’s your first official outing as a couple, so it’s going to feel strange, but we can’t see that. Asher, stop being so stiff. You’re acting like you’ve never done this before.”

I let out a nervous breath and try to relax more into Asher’s side. I can do this. I spent most of my life under the glaring lights of a stage, acting and pretending, telling stories with my body through dance. I can stand on a fucking red carpet and look like I belong there.

But it’s hard when the energy next to me is cold and uncomfortable.

“Are you okay?” I whisper to Asher.

“Fine.”

“Let’s go,” Matthew says, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not goingto ask about last night,” Matthew hisses as we near the venue. We’re all in the back of the big black car, sitting in a strained silence as we have for the thirty-minute ride here. “But clearly whatever went on between the two of you wasn’t enough.”

“I’m not giving you a fucking play by play,” Asher snaps at him.

I stare out the window feeling like an idiot. I felt like we had connected last night. The Asher I was with last nightwaswarm and comfortable. Playful, even. The Asher from last night made me feel safe in his arms, and like we had enough chemistry, enough basic regard for one another, to make this work. But the Asher of today is a different story. It’s like a goddamn switch flipped, and all the light of last night has been plunged into darkness.

And I have no idea why.

“Do we need to do some shots, then?” Matthew asks.

Asher sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “Fine.”

“Wonderful,” Matthew says, his voice dripping in sarcasm. He presses a button on the car door. A hidden compartment I had no idea existed, pops open, and there are two bottles of liquor held in place by a netting wrap. “Whiskey or vodka?” he asks me as he’s already filling a shot glass of whiskey for Asher, no need to ask him his preference.

“Vodka.” I don’t really like either choice, but I’m so unsure,now bordering on annoyed with Asher, that I’m feeling childish and don’t even want to drink the same drink as him.

I take the shot and grimace at the burn, then hand the glass back to Matthew. I’m a lightweight through and through, and I probably shouldn’t have even had a full shot. Asher takes another shot of whiskey, and Matthew is just packing it all back away as the flashing of cameras starts to hit the car.

Asher is out of the car first, and reaches back for me. I take his hand and slide out, not meeting his eyes. I don’t want to know what’s going on there. I don’t want to know why he’s so upset. At this point, I just want to get this night over with.

But as the cameras flash my way, I fake it like the goddamn professional I am.

I smile at the paparazzi and follow along after Asher. We stand together and pose several times, and I do my best to look and feel comfortable—like I’m always wrapped into his side, like his hands on the bare skin of my lower back is nothing new, like my hands are always on the hard planes of his back and abdomen.

The photographers shout over one another.

“Ella! Here!”

“Ella! How about over the shoulder!”

“Ella! A solo shot!”

“Mr. Langford! Whisper in her ear!”