Page 138 of Carnal Wagers

“You have it wrong,” I mumbled.

“I knew it the moment I saw that photo.” Brody pointed to the one of her and Maeve, and the nail shoved in deeper. “I knew it was her.”

“No.” I fought the rising lump in my throat.

Copies of official French documents and facial cross-referencing glared up at me.

Liam bent down, picked up a few, and rifled through them. “Shit.”

The pity on his face whacked that nail flush against the casing of my heart and shook my insides.

“It got me thinking why she’s here. There’s something fishy about her, Killy.” Brody sounded almost giddy behind his barbed tone.

A crack fissured.

“That’s…no.”

“Why is she alive but everyone else’s dead?”

“You’re wrong,” I muttered.

“Why did Kara die and not her?”

“Stop it.”

“She killed them.”

“No.”

“It’s her. She did it.”

“Shut up,” I shouted. Arthur and Liam closed in around us. “Shut up. Shut your goddamn mouth and get your head on straight.”

I tossed the photos back at him.

“She couldn’t have fucking done it, and you know it. You. Know. It.”

That much I was sure of. Add the fact that she never left my side, and there was no opportunity for her to kill Brody’s girl. The rest…I wasn’t ready to analyze that yet. Because that meant it had all been a lie, and Alice, my Alice, the woman who drove me both out of my mind and over the moon, would never do that to me.

“You don’t like that my woman lives and yours is dead. Fine. That doesn’t make my wife a criminal.”

“You admit it. She’s your wife.”

“Fuck, no, I—”

But shit, I had said it. My wife. Alice Marine. Alizé De Villier. That crack grew deeper and smarted. I stumbled away from them, the mess, the truth, and back to her amid the lively noises of the gala. Back to my greatest deception.

She wasn’t Alice Marine, and that truth fucked with my head.

All night, I sat against the cushioned headboard of my bed and raked my fingers through her hair. I tracked her breathing. I counted her heartbeats. I cradled and warmed her body while holding ice packs over the swollen skin. I soothed her through the whimpered beginnings of nightmares with a soft run of my fingers up and down her spine. Because I loved this woman.

I loved this conniving, twisted little liar with all my heart, and fuck, it hurt. It split me down the middle and jabbed at my insides with hot pokers because we were a lie. All of it was. Yet I couldn’t find the strength to wrap my hand around her bruised throat and finish what my brother started.

That heavy truth sat like a boulder against my chest. I gazed down at her peaceful face, golden hue pale in the moonlight, eyelashes brushing her cheekbones, lips slightly parted, jaw void of tension. She looked delicate, almost ethereal.

Mo síbhean, I called her. My fairy woman. She was aptly named. Fairies were known for being tricksters. They lured humans into traps to steal their minds and bodies. She’d done both to me, and I willingly fell into the snare.

My fairy. My fraud. My wife.