The Lies He Told | PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER ROMANCE |

CHAPTER THIRTY

When I got home from work, I was loaded with so much excitement that I could hardly contain myself. I flung my handbag down in the foyer, heedless of where it landed, and kicked off my shoes without even bothering to untie them. Then, like a whirlwind, I ascended the stairs, two steps at a time.

Exhilaration got the better of me. I was still riding the suspenseful high of last night when I took an unexpected camping trip in Royce's truck, followed by early morning breakfast at the village's roadside cafe and afternoon tea with Mr Ross.

And, because of said high, I was not ready for the maelstrom of nonsensicalness to end. I was primed for round two, to leave the cliff house and slum it, as my social circle would call it, with the guys at the beachfront.

My work clothes and lace underwear fell to the floor in a heap. I entered the ensuite bathroom and turned on the shower, relishing the gradual warming of the water as it spritzed from the nozzle. I longed for the opportunity to rejuvenate myself.

As the steam began to rise, creating a hazy atmosphere that replenished the room with a sense of opulence and indulgence, I ventured on the delightful quest for the perfect attire for the night's impending escapades.

Within the capacious walk-in wardrobe, where luxuriously appointed cupboards and drawers flanked either side of the marble runway, I tugged the cushioned bench to my side of the room and mounted it, knowing that if I owned any daring attire, as Royce termed it, it would be secreted away in storage boxes from my college years. I certainly did not have any risky garments in my current wardrobe.

Perched precariously on the long-stretched bench, I surveyed the sea of old, dusty storage boxes that surrounded me.

I opened one container after another, revealing a treasure trove of faded photographs, forgotten trinkets, and old clothes.

On the verge of despair, ready to abandon my search and don the Alessandra Rich white and brown polka dot dress hanging in the wardrobe, I finally discovered the fabric I sought beneath a stack of old cassettes.

My typical clumsiness struck again as I attempted to balance with an armful of old belongings.

To prevent a face-first dive, I managed to catch the fall with a quick butt landing, but the box still bore down heavily on my chest.

Having emptied the contents of the box onto the marble floor, I perused the clothes from my formative years and raised to my chest the dress I had worn to a college house party once. Daniel had been infatuated with me that night, and, if my recollection is accurate, he had repeatedly professed his love, unable to restrain himself from touching me.

The gold, sequin-encrusted mini dress dazzled in my hands, its backless design revealing a tantalising glimpse of skin. The spaghetti straps barely held the dress in place, and the hemline grazed the top of my thighs. It was the perfect outfit for the compromised barbecue slash party, daring and provocative.

Due to my failure to preserve any of my college shoes, not that I'd want to stick my feet into old footwear, I selected a pair of gold Giuseppe Zanotti Amira charm-embellished open-toe high heels and a Jimmy Choo diamond box metallic-finish clutch bag. Although Royce advised me to bypass designer items if I did not want to attract attention, these were the best items I could find on short notice.

Having deposited essentials on the bed next to my hair products and vanity container, I headed for the bathroom, eager to shower.

As I passed the sofa, I caught sight of my phone vibrating. It was a jarring interruption to my pre-shower routine, but I had to answer it.

A FaceTime call from Daniel

I snatched the satin robe from the door, its tropical pattern a riot of colour, and slipped it on hurriedly, tying it loosely at the waist.