They were on his terrace, the city glittering below like a circuit board. She had had two glasses of champagne, which meant she was loose and honest. She turned to him, her cheeks flushed.

She smiled, and for once, it was not for him. It was for herself.

She stepped closer, her bare lips inches from his. Without the gloss, they looked younger, more vulnerable. He could see the fine lines where she chewed the inside of her cheek, the tiny scar from a childhood fall.

“Because,” he said, touching her jaw, turning her face toward the light, “your lips are the most beautiful lie I’ve ever seen.”

“No,” she said. “They’ll be the life of me.”

She froze. The air between them turned thick and hot.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *