Page 131 of Hate to Love You
“Is there a problem, Miss Wayne?” I ask, turning to her and taking a sip of my drink. “I mean, it’s not like you care, right?”
“Not a bit. It’s just amusing what a shameless whore you are, Mr. Antonov,” she says, shaking her head.
“So, I’m a whore now,” I say, nodding slowly. “I thought you just said I was desperate. Forgive me, you’re a bit…confusing.”
I stare at her, watching as her eyes find mine. She opens her mouth to say something, but then changes her mind. Biting her bottom lip.
Gotcha.
“What do you want, Roman?” She finally says.
“I want to know why.”
“You know exactly why,” she scoffs. “You literally bolted my shit to my desk and—”
“No, not why you left today,” I say firmly, interrupting her. “I want to know why you lied to me, Abigail.”
My tone is dark and heavy, as is my stare.
What happens next is incredibly interesting.
Abby makes no visible movement, her posture and facial expression unchanging. However, I know my question has her immediately on the defensive, and her eyes are all the confirmation I need.
It’s easy for a person to lie, but their eyes cannot.
I watch in real time as Abby’s widen and her pupils dilate ever so slightly. And in the silence shared between us, it’s almost as if I can see her weighing the options of her lying to me, against giving me the truth I seek.
“I lied because I don’t like talking about my ex-husband,” she says finally, lowering her eyes to her glass.
“You mean late husband,” I correct, waiting for her to look back up at me before continuing. “For the record, that’s usually how people talk about their dead husbands. But I gotta say, I feel like that would be even more reason to tell me that he died, not tell me you just split up.”
“You know, I don’t really want to talk about this—” Abby says as she starts to push her chair away.
“Sit. Down.” I growl, so forcefully that Abby jumps and instantly collapses back against her seat. “I want a straight answer out of you. And don’t fucking lie to me Abby. Because I promise I’ll know if you do.”
She swallows hard, before turning to the pretty bartender.
“I’ll take another one of these,” she says, shaking her empty glass. “I’m going to need it.”
“Sure thing, hon,” the girl says, before turning to me. “And you, dear?”
“No,” I snap, without moving my gaze off Abby.
“Oh…well, okay then,” the dejected girl says. “I’ll be right back with that martini.”
“If you’re not careful, you’re going to give that girl whiplash,” Abby says, biting her lip.
“Good, that will make two of us,” I fire back. “Now quit stalling and answer my question.”
“Can I get my drink first?”
“No,” I hiss, grabbing her chair and turning it to face me.
“I didn’t…I mean, I don’t…well I don’t talk about it,” she says, sighing heavily. “It’s not something I talk about.”
“Well, here’s something I don’t talk about,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her. “I knew your husband.”
“What?” She asks, shock blanketing her face.