Page 99 of Painted Truths

Tilting my head to the side, I look up into green eyes hazy with adoration. Eyes that I could happily drown myself in before Henry closes the gap and covers my lips with his in a soft, far too fleeting touching of our mouths.

As he pulls back, I spin in his hold to place a quick peck on the rumpled shirt covering his chest. “Be right back, McHottie.”

I step back to find Nate watching us closely, a joyous expression taking over his face.

Once again, holding out his forearm for me, he smirks. “If the lady is quite finished.”

I narrow my eyes playfully before accepting his arm to allow him to walk me through the party, which is in full swing and out the far side of the enclosure. The house is perched on the clifftop just above the celebrations, and he leads me along the beach, reminding me that I’ve lost my shoes somewhere in the sand as I’m still barefoot and up steps set into the cliffside. The entire walk is lit by suspended lanterns, and it’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen in my life.

I say as much to Nate, to which he grimaces, though pained. “Yeah. The old man was all about image, you know? Pained him to no end when I didn’t go into the family business and became a ‘starving artist’ instead. Aesthetics, of course. Not because the old bastard actually gave a shit about mum or me. Pawns, that’s what we were. And when a measly pawn dared to go up against the King, he didn’t take it too well.”

He’s talking as though in a trance, like he’s forgotten about my presence entirely.

“When I found him with Zara… fuck. I thought my life was over. He’d planned it.” He chuckles darkly. “Obviously. But somehow, she managed to get him to marry her, not that riding his wrinkled old dick got her anywhere. He left her with barely the clothes on her back when he finally kicked the bucket.”

We’ve reached the top of the cliff, the house about thirty metres away when he stops in his tracks. “I fucking hate this place. I wrote my three novels here, holed up from the world with only Zara for company. For inspiration. This place is toxic as fuck. It reminds me of everything I’m not supposed to want…”

Awareness comes back into his body with a visible shudder, and he shakes his head to dispel the memories of another lifetime.

“Anyway. Needless to say, I hope this place brings better luck for Caden and Layla.”

Squeezing his arm in solidarity, we continue to the house, finding the large wooden doors thrown wide open, the sheer white curtains blowing softly in the light breeze coming in from the ocean.

“Right. Oh, Captain, my Captain. Where are the ladies’ facilities in this monstrosity?”

A smile splits his handsome face, revealing that single dimple in his left cheek, winking at me in delight underneath his impeccably groomed, dark beard.

“Whitman. Nice.”

I preen under his praise; poetry having been one of my father’s favourite pastimes, so I’m more than familiar with the greats.

“This way. Come on. We’d better get you back quick sharp.” His tone is light-hearted now as a smirk tugs at the edges of his lips, his eyebrows wiggling. “Before Henry loses his shit and storms up here thinking I’m having my wicked way with his woman.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Henry

"I'm telling you, Henry. Lock. That. Shit. Down."

I can't deny the roguish cat-who-got-the-cream grin that appears on my face at North's proclamation.

"I'm fucking serious, DeMarco. She's a proper worldie if I've ever seen one. And fuck me, I've seen them all." We both burst out laughing, Cade's inimitable guffaw ringing loud and sincere through the whole pavilion. His merriment, his unbridled happiness encouraging me to laugh even harder, feeling lighter than I have in years, and that's not thanks in small part to one tiny, little Peach.

He sobers, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees, his hands hanging between his thighs. "In all seriousness, I've never seen you as happy, man. Peachy looks good on you! I mean, Henry, I've not seen you as chilled since, well… since ever. You usually look slightly constipated.”

He chuckles easily when I flip him the bird, but even his usual antics can’t bring me down from this high.

I don't remember ever feeling as light, though the burden from the shit Alex dredged up earlier still lingers like a bad smell, and I can't help the thought from racing across my mind. Maybe what Liv said earlier is true.

A problem shared is a problem halved.

Sounds like something my mother would have said.

"Besides, I can see why you'd be happy. Those tits are the stuff of legend, man. Perfectly pink and puckered juuuuust right—ouch!"

He's not expecting it when I kick my leg out at the annoying little prick. He almost falls forward off his seat, but he does it with that shit-eating grin plastered to his face, knowing full well he's succeeding in his never-ending mission to irritate the ever-loving shit out of me.

Can't say he's not wrong, though. Peaches’ tits are spectacular. Full, firm, and just enough that my palms barely contain their plumpness.