Genuine Lies

wide, unsmiling mouth. On a gasping sob, Julia brought her fingers to her own lips. Oh, God, oh God, the same shape, the same overful bottom lip. Her fingers shook as she balled them into a fist and kept running.
    She didn’t notice Lyle standing on the narrow balcony over the garage, binoculars hanging around his neck, a pleased grin on his face.
    She burst onto the terrace, her fisted hand pressed against her jittery stomach. Damp, her hand fumbled with the door before she cursed it, kicked it, then fought with the knob again. From inside, Paul swung it open, then caught her neatly by the elbows as she stumbled in.
    “Whoa.” He gave a quick laugh as he steadied her. “Youmust have missed me—” He cut himself off when he realized she was shaking. Tipping her head back by the chin, he saw the stricken look on her face. “What is it? Did something happen to Eve?”
    “No.” The lost, helpless expression changed to fury. “Eve’s just fine, just fine and dandy. Why shouldn’t she be? She’s pushing all the buttons.” She tried to jerk away, but he held firm. “Let me go, Paul.”
    “As soon as you tell me what’s got you all worked up. Come on.” He nudged her back outside. “You look like you could use some air.”
    “Brandon—”
    “Is sound asleep. Since his room’s on the other side of the house, I don’t think anything you have to say out here will bother him. Why don’t you sit down?”
    “Because I don’t want to sit. I don’t want to be held or soothed or patted on the head. I want you to let me go.”
    He released her, holding his hands up, palms out. “Done. What else can I do for you?”
    “Don’t use that wry British tone. I’m not in the mood for it.”
    “All right, Jules.” He rested a hip on the table. “What are you in the mood for?”
    “I could kill her.” She whipped up and down the patio, crossing from light into shadow then back into light. As she turned, she ripped one of the showy pink geraniums from its stem and shredded the blossom. The velvety shreds fluttered to the ground to be crushed and torn under her feet. “This whole thing, all of it, has been one of her famous maneuvers. Bringing me out here, taking me into her confidence, making me trust her—care for her. And she was sure—so fucking sure I’d fall right into the trap. Do you suppose she thought I’d be grateful, honored, flattered to be linked to her this way?”
    He watched her throw the mangled stem aside. “I can’t really say how she thought you’d feel. If you’d care to fill me in?”
    She tossed up her head. For a moment she’d forgotten he was there. He stood, lazily leaning against the table, watching.Observing. They had that in common, she thought bitterly. There were those who stood and watched, recorded, reported, carefully noting how others lived, how they felt, what they said as they were tugged through life by fate’s wily fingers. Only this time she was the one being manipulated.
    “You knew.” A fresh wave of rage crested inside her. “All this time, you knew. She never keeps anything from you. And you stood by and watched, waited, knowing she would do this to me. What role did she cast you in, Paul? The hero who calmly picks up the pieces?”
    His patience was wearing thin. He pushed himself away from the table to face her. “I can’t confirm or deny until you tell me what it is I’m supposed to have known.”
    “That she’s my mother.” Julia flung the words at him, tasting each bitter syllable on her tongue. “That Eve Benedict is my mother.”
    He hadn’t even been aware of moving, but his hands had shot out to grip her arms. “What the hell are you talking about?”
    “She told me tonight.” She didn’t jerk away. Instead, she grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt and leaned into him. “She must have thought it was time for a mother-daughter chat. It’s been only twenty-eight years.”
    He gave her a quick, rough shake. Hysteria was rising in her voice, and he preferred the rage. “Told you what? Told you exactly what?”
    Her head came up slowly. Though her grip on his shirt didn’t lessen, she spoke calmly, clearly, as if explaining a particularly complex problem to a slow-witted child. “That twenty-eight years ago she gave birth, secretly, to a child in Switzerland. And having no place for that sort of inconvenience, gave the child away. Me. She gave me away.”
    He would have laughed the thought aside if it hadn’t been for the desolation