The Lie by Natalie Wrye (primary phonics books .txt) 📕

“That's not really true,” I tell her. “I’ve personally been a witness to your mouth doing much more than working… And right now, all I want to do is kiss it.”

“I can live with that,” she says.

“I can't wait to kiss you,” I tell her.

“I can't wait to be kissed and adored.”

“I can't wait to kiss and adore you forever.”

“That will be wonderful.”

“Our forever is going to be wonderful,” I correct her.

“I know,” she says, almost too casually. “I'm looking forward to it too.”

“You're a sweetheart, you know that?” I ask her.

“I know,” she replies. “I'm also a pain in the ass. You know that too.”

“Well, sweetness,” I smile. “I was going to kiss you now. And tell the rest of the world to go to hell. But we'd better make it quick before Bri comes back after resetting that alarm. I don't know if the alarm will still be on,” I tell her. “But I do know she's going to be back any second.”

“So?” Nancy doesn't understand. “You can't kiss me if she's here?”

“Trust me,” I smile. “As soon as she gets here, go in for a big ol' kiss. She'll either have to gag or leave.”

“You're crazy,” she tells me.

“I know. But just in case… I'll get the bucket. She might need it.”

Epilogue

NANCY

TWO WEEKS LATER

No one ever tells you when you’ve run out of chances.

You think there’d be a warning, some kind of external sign from the universe that your luck was running out.

Maybe a storm cloud. Or a literal kick in the ass.

Something to tell you that time is ticking away.

But nope, no one ever does.

It’s not until you’re running late for the party that you're hosting that you realize that you run out of them.

The old Nancy would have never shown up to her own bar's re-opening shindig late.

But the new one?

She can't keep her head on straight, and as I run out of the bathroom, hair soaked, towel barely holding onto my slippery breasts, I almost collide with my handsome new fiancé.

His hands are full of bags, and he’s not looking where he’s going. As I try to keep from falling down the stairs, he stumbles and spills his shopping bags onto the carpet.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, bending over to help him pick up white dress shirts, shiny black shoes and expensive tie bars. “What the hell are all these for?”

“I can’t just show up to the party in jeans, Nancy.”

“Andrew, it’s your bar now. You’re the owner, not the guest of honor. You can wear whatever you'd like.”

“I'd like…” he smirks, dropping the rest of the bags, “to look presentable. You're a hard act to follow, Miss Anderson. I just want to do right by The Alchemist.”

I kiss him, tasting him slow. “You will. You always will. Now, have you seen my blow dryer? I completely misplaced it.”

“It's about two feet to the left, below the sink,” he tells me. “I'm sorry I'm late. I got here as soon as I could.”

“It's fine. But what are all those clothes for?”

“I told you. I want to look presentable.”

“You look presentable in leather and jeans…” I glance over at him, loving the view. “But I have to say: You do look especially delicious in a tux.”

He grins, a wicked smile spreading over his handsome stubbled face. He leans in close. “I do, don't I?”

He almost kisses me, but I spin around, heading back into the bathroom, my steps quick as I backpedal in the direction I came. “Nope. I can't allow that.”

“What?” He raises his hands, mouth open.

“Nope. I know you. Too many kisses and we both will be later than we are already.” I gesture at him, motioning towards the bathrooms on other side of the penthouse. I point. “And you, Mr. Fletcher, still need to take a shower.”

He takes a step forward. “We can save on water, if I just join yours.”

“Too late. I've already showered. Now, I just need to finish this hair of mine and get dressed.”

“So, we'll be here for what, another ten hours, then? Plenty of time for us to sneak in a little—"

“Oh, no,” I interrupt. “Down, boy. You're worse than Domino, who's been following me all day.”

Andrew smirks. “I sympathize with that damned cat.” He glances at my towel, blue eyes glowing. “And he gets a really good vantage point, from what I can see. Must be nice to fit right under your legs.”

I laugh, scurrying away.

The last two weeks have been a rollercoaster, but they've been the best fortnight of my life. And I still can't believe they're real.

Can't believe I'm here.

And all because of a weekend of such craziness.

Frank Levins was on the run, packing his belongings and disappearing into the wind, probably leaving a trail of slime behind him. Carol Jackson (or Paisley or ‘Prison Bitch’ whatever she was now going by) was in jail…a place her husband still hadn’t returned to after his last escape.

And the Fletchers—“we Fletchers,” technically…were better than ever.

After Hannah's wedding weekend, it only took a couple of days before Andrew invited me to move into his Manhattan penthouse—the one his parents owned, and the new Nancy—shiny and bold—was brave enough to say yes.

She was also bold enough to say yes when Andrew stepped in, buying The Alchemist outright and handling the much-needed repairs for the bar with such finesse that this new Nancy wondered how she could have ever doubted him in the first place.

As for the ‘new' Andrew?

He was currently fitting into his new shoes as head of his household just fine. More than fine, actually…

The man was perfect—a flawless combination of the gritty bartender he'd been and the billionaire businessman he'd avoided being in the past.

Instead of a wedding, Hannah, Sabrina and Andrew used Hannah’s ruined nuptials as a much more agreeable occasion to celebrate their grandmother's life, turning the trust-reading and funeral into a family reunion of epic proportions.

In the weeks after, the three have been inseparable, stepping