My head swivels so fast I almost sprain my neck. "My what?"
"Your Lexus. The car. You left it."
"I didn't leave it. I gave it back to you."
"Well, I've got it in the garage."
"Why?" It's not like he doesn't have a car of his own.
He shrugs, then clears his throat. "In case you changed your mind."
"Lucas."
I place my forehead against his shoulder. My gut clenches painfully as I realize maybe I should've stuck around and confronted him directly rather than have his hateful brother drive me away. Even though Google showed how different we were-his wealth, his family, his connections-I should've at least given him a chance to explain. Even if there was a possibility that it might add to my already painful humiliation.
"I'm not a total idiot, Ava." He lets out a rough laugh. "I knew you weren't planning on coming back. But getting rid of it felt too … final." The corners of his eyes crinkle as his lips twist self-deprecatingly. "I suppose it's the reason some people keep their children's rooms the same after they move away."
"You got me back."
"Yes, thank god." He sighs. "So, the car … "
I want to say no, but I can tell that accepting it matters a great deal to him. "I'll … take it back. Thank you." I squirm.
"You're uncomfortable," he says.
"Because it's too extravagant! It's a whole car."
"If we're going to be together, you have to get used to extravagance."
I sigh and finally nod. "Okay. You're right." It wouldn't be fair for me to ask him to drastically lower his living standards just to suit me. Besides, there's no car he could've bought that would've made me feel comfortable taking it.
When Lucas drives through the gates to the golf course community, he turns the opposite way from Ray and Darcy's home and follows along the immaculately maintained winding road. At the end is a one-story house that sprawls unlike my foster parents' home.
He pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine. Another car is there. Glossy, black, expensive looking. Everything inside me freezes when I see a woman climb out of it. Inky black hair, alabaster skin, amber eyes and lush carmine lips paired with the fabulously voluptuous body of a pinup girl from the fifties. Incredibly, horrifyingly, Faye Belbin is even better in person than in her photos.
The red dress she's wearing looks painted on. It leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination and seems almost indecent, despite the fact that its hem reaches mid-shin. Her hips sway seductively as she walks toward us in red shoes with skinny high heels.
"Ah, fuck." Lucas yanks on the door and gets out.
I climb out, too. I'm not going to sit inside the car when my man is about to interact with his ex or … something. I'm still not sure what to label Faye.
"I am so going to fire Rachel," Lucas says.
"Now, now." The woman has a purring husky contralto that belongs to a phone sex operator. She barely spares a glance my way. Suddenly I feel small and inconsequential in her presence. "Don't be irritated. Come give me a hug."
She comes forward with arms spread, but he raises his hands, palms out.
She stops. Her focus remains zeroed in on Lucas. "All right, so you're upset with Rachel, but she didn't do anything wrong. I told her I had to see you, especially in light of what's going on with your family."
Lucas huffs out a breath. "Elliot or Ryder?"
She laughs. "It's Elliot, and you know how it is. Got tangled up in another juicy scandal."
"Marrying a damn stripper isn't enough?"
"Apparently not."
He curses viciously. "All right, so why are you here? What's so damned important?"
She looks mildly surprised. "Lucas, I know you want to beat your father at his little game. I wanted to offer my help, but couldn't reach you by phone. So … "
That reminds me that we turned off our phones while we were at the bed and breakfast. Apparently Lucas forgot too; we both fish our phones out and turn them on. As soon as mine finds reception, it starts vibrating with numerous alerts.
Most of them are Facebook messages and emails from Bennie. I open the latest one on top of my inbox.
Subject: WTF
Where are you? Are you still with that son of a bitch? What bullshit is he feeding you? Girl, you need to get the hell away from him. HE IS FUCKING POISON, AND HE DOESN'T DESERVE YOU.
There's a link attached at the bottom of the email. The URL makes it clear it's some kind of celeb gossip website, and my stomach churns with apprehension. This cannot be good.
The site loads. The headline reads: Greedy Billionaires Want More.
A knot tight in my throat, I skim the article. The more I read, the more nauseated I become. This is so much worse than I thought. All the stuff Lucas fed me, the sweet words about how he couldn't live without me, that I took something from him-warmth and all that is good and great about his life-was all lies. He didn't mean any of it.