7. Lexi

7

LEXI

A fter the cacophony of probing voices and dozens of flashing cameras aimed at us all evening, returning to the privacy and quiet of the apartment is a welcome reprieve. I played the game—for better or worse—but it's not a role I'll ever enjoy.

"My mother likes you," Grey comments before I can escape to my room.

I turn back, hating how his words make me feel.

His mother's approval leaves a sour taste in my mouth and only adds to the heavy mantle of guilt on my shoulders. She seems pure-hearted in a way that highlights my treachery. That he seems so pleased by her approval makes it all the more shameful.

He doesn't deserve what they're making me do.

Neither does she.

"She's very sweet," I say because it's the only response that isn't another lie.

"She's had it pretty rough," he says, his gaze darkening. I suspect that's putting it mildly considering she's married to Vincenzo. My heart aches for what that must be like.

"The stuff she said about my mom," I can't help but ask, "do you think it's true?"

"My mother wouldn't lie to you." He takes a step closer to me, and I tense. If he tries to touch me, I'm not sure I can keep my armor up. "I promised to help you find your wolf. And I think that starts with learning more about your parents."

I perk up at that. "You're going to help me?"

"We had a deal, remember? You have dinner with me in exchange for me helping you."

"Right."

It was supposed to be a different dinner. A private one. But he doesn't point out that I broke that deal when I didn't show up last night.

"What are you thinking?" I ask.

"If your parents decided to leave, they would've had a plan."

I've been thinking the same thing. "Someone on the outside."

He nods. "If we could track that person down, they might be able to tell us what happened to your wolf."

"That was two decades ago. How in the world would we find them?"

"We can start with the car they were found in," he says, and I swallow hard, remembering how it felt when I learned that the story I'd been told my whole life was a lie. Social Services said it was a car accident, but when I was eighteen, I found a single scrawled note in my social worker's personal file on me that revealed they'd both died from a gunshot wound to the chest.

"The police report had a license plate," I say.

He nods. "There's no guarantee the car wasn't stolen, but I'm having Dutch look into it." He frowns, which dampens my hope.

"What is it?" I ask nervously.

"Just something my father said," he says distractedly. His phone rings, cutting off any further questions. He checks it and scowls. "Speak of the devil. Hello?"

He listens for a moment, and I watch his expression for some clue about what Vincenzo might be saying to him. But Grey's darkening mood is no different than any other encounter he's had with the alpha so far.

A moment later, he holds the phone out to me. "He wants to talk to you."

I hesitate but then realize refusing will only force him to come here in person.

I take the phone. "Hello?"

"You can't feel your wolf at all?"

I look at Grey, bewildered, but he just shrugs. "Excuse me?"

"Your wolf," he says, impatience lacing the words. "You can't feel it even a little bit?"

"No."

"And you had no idea about being a shifter before coming here?"

"No. Why?"

"Do you ever get sick?"

My confusion turns to suspicion. "Why are you asking me?—"

"Answer the fucking question."

I sigh. "I guess. Doesn't everyone?"

"When was the last time?"

I hesitate, trying to think back. "I can't remember." He snarls, and I hurry to add, "My social worker said there was something in my file. I got a high fever as a baby and the doctors were worried because no antibiotics worked at first. Why?"

"That was the only time?"

"I think so."

He grunts like I said something helpful. "Give the phone back to Jericho."

I do as he asks, glad to be done with the sudden interrogation but mystified by what it all means. Grey listens to whatever Vincenzo's saying, his expression no help in deciphering the answers to my questions.

Lost in thought, I walk to the kitchen and help myself to a glass of water. When I turn back, Grey's still standing where I left him. He's hung up, and his expression is a bit stunned.

"What did he say?" I ask quickly.

"He said…good job."

"What did you do?"

"Not me. You."

"What did I do?" I ask warily because earning the asshole's approval makes me almost as nervous as provoking his ire.

"The interview you gave to the paparazzi. The comments about Franco and you being one big happy family. He loved it. Said it was a nail in the old buzzard's coffin. He wants us to keep talking to the press like that. Use our comments to paint Franco into a corner."

"I mean, that was our goal anyway," I say with a shrug.

"It was. It's just weird to have his appreciation."

"It won't last," I warn.

He shakes himself, his gaze sharpening. "No, but it makes playing our games that much easier if he thinks we're playing his."

He walks over and wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me close. If he notices me stiffen, he ignores it, tucking my hair behind my ear.

"You're so beautiful," he says, brushing my lips with a kiss.

I try to keep my body and brain separate as he deepens the kiss, his arms around me tightening in a possessive hold. But it's impossible not to respond to the way he touches me. The way my body wants him to. Impossible to ignore the way my heart fills and stutters.

"You've been distant," he says when he finally eases back. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I say, my voice raspy with desire. "Tonight was a lot. With the press and the paparazzi."

"Mmm. You would tell me," he says a bit more sharply, "if there was something else?"

My heart races. "Like what?"

I brace myself, but instead of answering outright, he says, "I've never introduced my mother to anyone before."

"Really? She doesn't know Dutch or Mia?" I tease.

He smirks. "Sure, but I'm not taking them home and doing this to them afterward."

"I wouldn't mind seeing you try it with Razor," I joke.

He flashes a grin as he runs a hand up my thigh and along the edge of my panties.

I draw in a sharp breath as anticipation builds.

"Grey," I manage, my emotions swirling with the need for this to be real. No pretending. No more lies between us than the one I'm already being forced to live. "Do you mean this?" I whisper as he trails kisses down my throat.

He pulls away, and I feel suddenly lonely without his hands and mouth on me. "You think I would do this with you if I didn't mean it?"

"I don't know."

His expression flashes with irritation but then he calms and says, "Give me your hand."

Tentatively, I place my hand in his. He grips it firmly and uses his other hand to pull the giant engagement ring off my finger.

"What are you doing?" I ask, terrified he's changing his mind.

Maybe even pretending is too much.

"This ring was chosen by someone on my father's payroll. It's a symbol of the evil that brought you here. It's all wrong." He hesitates, his gaze scanning the kitchen behind me. "Come here."

With my hand still firmly in his, he leads me into the kitchen and pulls open a drawer. He rummages and comes away with a twist tie. Then he wraps it around my finger, twisting until it's formed a ring.

"What is this?" I ask.

"It's real," he says simply. Then he drops the engagement ring back into my hand. It feels heavy on my palm. "And it's your choice. You can wear the twist-tie, which is something I chose without being ordered to do so and a symbol of my feelings for you. Or you can wear this gaudy diamond my father bought."

My heart flutters then races. "Your feelings for me…"

"Are real as fuck, Lexi." His voice dips earnestly low, and he steps closer, his eyes fastened intently on mine. "That dinner the other night—when you got sick? It was my way of showing you that you matter to me. You're the most important thing in my life now."

My heart melts into a pool of warmth. "I thought it was a chance for the paparazzi to see us together."

He shakes his head. "No one asked me to take you to dinner. It was all me."

"I didn't realize…" A lump forms in my throat as I imagine him sitting at the table alone, waiting for me—while I was busy agreeing to betray him.

Guilt slams into me.

As much as I wanted this declaration from him, it only makes things harder now.

I look away, but not before he frowns at the pain I must've let show.

He grimaces, misreading it. "Fuck. It's too fast, isn't it?" I start to answer, but he shakes his head, cutting me off as he grips my arms. "I know the situation is fucked up. And that I have to earn your trust. But dammit, Lexi. I want you. Tell me how to earn you. What can I do?"

It's not a question I'm expecting, and for a moment, I'm at a loss. He's made it clear I'm more than just a convenient distraction or a means to an end in this war with his father. But letting myself believe him is terrifying. If he's serious, it makes my betrayal so much worse.

I'm not just betraying him; I'm betraying myself.

Because the truth is, I want to earn him too.

"Earning trust isn't something you do just once," I say, hating myself a little more with every word. "Especially when this world and the people we're up against are constantly chipping away at it."

"I get that," he says. "Believe me. I'm very aware that the only reason you're here is because I'm forcing you."

"It's not the only reason," I say softly.

Hope blooms in his dark expression. "It's not?"

"I told you I'm part of this now. Willingly. We made a deal, remember?" My smile is crooked.

"Yes," he says. "I can't forget. You made me promise to help you go home when we're finished here."

"You make it sound like you didn't want to agree," I say, trying to make it a joke.

"I was willing to do what you wanted—to make you happy," he says quietly. "But no, I don't want to give you up."

Fear and hope send my heart tripping over itself. I bite my lip. "You want me to stay?"

"I do," he says quietly.

No hesitation.

No wavering.

It guts me. Maybe that's why I decide to tell at least one truth. "I want that too."