A Red Lipstick Lies

"Oh Ethan, how long have you been standing?" I asked as I adjusted my hair with a wide smile, trying to hide the sudden tension crawling up my spine. Why didn't I feel footsteps coming? I could feel a thin line of sweat tickle the back of my neck even though the cool night breeze danced softly across my skin.

Ethan stood there tall, looking effortlessly elegant in his black tuxedo that hugged his body like it had been sewn directly onto him. His deep brown eyes stared at me, calm but curious, and unreadable.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t smile. He just stood with his hands deep in his pockets just like how I saw his father did when he killed my parents fourteen years ago, like he had caught me doing something I shouldn’t.

"I just came in, my love. I was looking for you at the hall," Ethan replied, finally pointing to the hall we had just left. His voice was low and calm, almost soft. The kind of softness that unsettles you when you know the person can flip like a switch.

I glanced towards the hall. Through the open glass doors, I saw his father, Norman Malcovich, shaking hands with a group of powerful-looking men, most likely business associates from overseas that came for the event. There was soft classical music in the background, violins and piano blending in the air like honey.

I forced my smile to stay wide and sweet, like I had no care in the world. My stomach twisted in nervous knots. I had come too far to let him doubt me now. Too far to let this plan slip from my fingers. I had trained myself for years, watched from the shadows, learned how to capture the attention of men like Ethan Malcovich.

I had to play the perfect role. I was the woman he thought he met by chance. The mystery, the sweetness, the fire. But I was more than that. I was everything he didn't see coming.

"Ethan, you were just busy with people around you. I needed some fresh air," I replied, pouting my lips as I looked up at him like a girl caught sneaking away from a party. I bit my bottom lip gently and tilted my head, knowing he was watching every little move I made.

He raised his brows slightly and looked at me like he was trying to figure me out. Like he had seen me before in another life. Or maybe like he was searching for something in me.

Come on Ethan, we just met tonight. We just had sex, nothing attached to it. We are not lovers. We are not even friends. Don’t try to act like you own me.

But then his hand reached up, slow and gentle, and he brushed a stray curl away from my cheek. His fingers lingered just a second too long. And my breath hitched.

"Let’s go over to the car. Let’s talk," Ethan said, as his voice was barely above a whisper, but it hit my chest like thunder. There was something deep and raw about the way he said it. Like this was not just a casual invitation. Like he needed to say something. Or hear something.

I followed him, my heels clicking against the marble floor as we walked down the hall and outside into the cool evening. The gala was still very much alive behind us, but outside it was quiet. Peaceful, even. The moon hung low, full and proud, spilling silver light over everything.

Why did Ethan look at me like that?

Like I reminded him of someone. Or something.

Maybe I looked like the girl he once loved in his previous life. Or maybe I reminded him of the people he and his father destroyed.

He was just like his father. Very cold, dangerous, calculated. Ethan Malcovich was no different than Norman. The same blood ran through their veins. The same darkness sat in their eyes.

When we reached where his black Lamborghini was parked, he moved ahead and opened the door for me, always the gentleman. I slid inside, trying to calm the pounding in my chest. I was aware of everything. The smooth leather seat under my skin. The clean, expensive scent of the car. The way the guard in the driver’s seat didn’t even turn to look back.

I sat there and waited as Ethan paused to speak to an older man who had just approached him. Probably another one of Norman’s partners. I watched him through the tinted glass, trying to read his lips. But the old man smiled politely, patted Ethan’s shoulder, and walked away.

Then my phone rang.

The vibration startled me.

I had forgotten I even had my phone in my bag. I pulled it out quickly, glancing toward the driver. He was still looking straight ahead, like his life depended on ignoring everything happening behind him.

I swiped to answer.

"This isn't the right time, Marcus," I whispered, pressing the phone close to my ear, trying not to breathe too loudly. My eyes flickered toward Ethan, who was still outside, nodding slowly to another old man.

"Nice one, Aria. Sorry, Norah. You really overdid this," Marcus’s voice came through the speaker, it was full of pride and excitement.

My heart skipped. My blood ran cold.

"Huh?" I responded too quickly, panic creeping into my tone. That wasn't what we discussed Marcus, you might implicate me. I nearly screamed.

"I saw you on the news just now," Marcus continued. "You did it, girl. We need to plan how to move further. The media already caught it. You’re trending. I mean it, Norah. You pulled it off."

I could hear the grin in his voice. He was proud of the chaos he helped build. Proud of the deception. Proud of me. But it wasn’t the kind of pride that warmed your heart. It was the kind that made you sick to your stomach. This wasn't the right time to talk about this Marcus!

I heard the click of the car door. My body stiffened.

Ethan slid into the seat beside me.

My throat dried. I ended the call with a fast swipe, but it was too late.

The name on the screen was still glowing bright.

Marcus Gerry.

Ethan turned to me slowly. There was something unreadable in his expression.

"Oh, you’ve got a nice phone there," he said, his eyes dropping to the device still in my hand.

I felt my world collapsing.

Did he see the name? Did he hear Marcus? Did he suspect anything?

I had to act fast. Faster than ever.

So I dropped the phone between us and launched forward and humped on his laps, as I pressed my lips onto his like my life depended on it.

Because it did right now.

My red lipstick smeared over his perfect mouth as I kissed him deep, my fingers were in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him to forget everything he might have just seen or heard. I think.

I poured all the panic, all the fear, all the passion I had into that kiss. Like it was our last. Like we were the only two people alive.

When I pulled away, Ethan looked dazed. Like he wasn’t sure what just happened.

His breath was shallow. His eyes were locked on me.

And I smiled again, playing the same sweet girl he thought I was.

"I was waiting for you for so long. Why did you keep me waiting, handsome?"