I kissed her throat and hooked a leg around her.
“I want to marry you,” I said. Her heart quickened against my chest. Could we actually have this for the rest of our lives?
After some minutes, we stood and stretched. I snagged the whip and grinned, eyeing the handle. “This is going to be fun to clean.”
She swatted my arm.
“You kinky bastard.”
“You said it.” I coiled the whip and tapped it against her bottom. “Go put on something hot. We’ve got dinner reservations.”
“We do?”
“Yeah, at Mizuna. They’re holding a table for us. I told them to expect us around seven. Of course, then you had to go and make me whip you.”
“Ha!” Hannah bounced on her toes. God, she was so fucking adorable.
“Clothes.” I steered her toward the bedroom.
*
Hannah took her time getting ready.
She paired her nude pumps with a fitted beige and black dress. I dressed quickly—light slacks and a black dress shirt—and watched her apply makeup.
“We match.” She beamed at me in the mirror.
“Mm.” I loomed at her shoulder, observing her dozens of makeup tubes, pallets, and bottles. For a girl who wore little makeup, she sure owned a lot. “How do you keep track of what’s what?” I twisted a tube.
She snatched it and applied the gloss to her cheekbones, making them shine. Mysterious.
“More bird witchery.” She grinned at me.
She let me choose her jewelry.
I found a black lace choker among her things.
“This,” I said, banding it around her neck. A vivid blush came into her cheeks. “And this.” Around her wrist, I clasped the owl charm bracelet I had given her for Christmas.
When we stepped into the empty restaurant, Hannah hesitated. “Is it closed?” The tables were set but barren, varnished wood and overturned glasses gleaming.
I shook my head.
“We wouldn’t be able to talk if…” I shrugged and led her to a table for two. “I know the owner. They just moved a few reservations.” And offered discounts that I would cover.
Hannah laughed and rolled her eyes.
“You are ridiculous.” She unfolded her napkin. “And adorable.”
A single waiter glided out, smiling and gracious, and I ordered for both of us—the lobster mac and cheese to start, a baby-lettuce salad and Chardonnay for Hannah, and for our entrées, the New York strip and roasted duck breast.
“We’ll share. Ever had duck?” I twisted my fork on the tablecloth and stared at Hannah. She kept glancing around and fidgeting.
“Um, no.”
“You’ll like it. All dark meat, even the breast.” I slid my foot forward until my shoe bumped hers. She jumped.
“Sore bottom?” I murmured. “You’re restless on that chair.”
“Matt!”
“What?” I chuckled. “We’re alone.”
“Quite…” She peered around again.
“Is it making you uncomfortable? We can leave.”
“No, no. It’s just … strange for me.”
I reached for her hand. She squeezed my fingers and I smiled, but the smile faded rapidly.
“Next time someone approaches you making claims about me,” I said, “please, tell me.”
She shrank in her chair. “Well, I did tell you. Sorta.”
“Yes, sort of.” I stroked her knuckles. “I’m surprised it hasn’t happened before, to be honest. People are so fucking crazy. But I deserve to know, and I would rather not learn about it in our collaborative story, do you understand?”
She nodded and stared at her lap.
“I’m not chastising you. I’m guilty of the same, more or less. The journal…” I shrugged. “We were both keeping secrets. As it happens, though, your mysterious lunch companion was not a friend of Bethany Meres. She was Bethany.”
Hannah jolted, her knee banging the table.
“What?”
“It’s all right.” I cupped my hands around hers. I let the information sink in, and then I continued, “I knew when I read the description. Her hair, her physique. It was enough. A quick phone call confirmed it.”
Hannah blanched.
“Yes, I called her. I paid her a visit, too.”
“Wh-when? Why?”
“Earlier, while you were at work. And because I like to deliver my threats personally.”
“Threats?”
“Mm.”
“Matt, what—” Another shade of pigment faded from her face. “God, I feel so stupid.”
“Don’t. You know how vindictive she can be. Think about what she did when I broke up with her.” I frowned and glanced around the empty restaurant. If not for Bethany revealing M. Pierce’s identity—me—Hannah and I wouldn’t have to dine alone to get a little peace. People in Denver wouldn’t recognize us instantly. I would never have faked my death, lived in Kevin’s cabin, and connived to drive Hannah to me with Night Owl.
Our story would be so different.
And maybe I deserved Bethany’s vengeance, but Hannah didn’t.
She was innocent.
I clasped her hands tighter and closed my eyes.
“Did she approach you more than once?”
“A few times,” she whispered. She told me how Bethany had claimed to be “Katie” and reluctantly divulged lies about my sexual appetites. My brutality, my forcefulness. Hannah cringed all through the telling. “She was trying to sabotage our fucking engagement. I get it now. She was planting those ideas, that you wanted other stuff, or trying to scare me.”
The server arrived with our appetizers.
“Drink your wine,” I said.
Hannah obeyed, guzzling half the glass under my gaze. I kissed her knuckles. I wondered how close Bethany had actually come to fucking up my happiness with Hannah. What if Hannah had found my black journal before I got a chance to explain? My entries, combined with Bethany’s lies, could easily have scared Hannah off …
I frowned and tilted my head.
“Did you ever mention Chrissy’s pregnancy to Bethany? Specifically, Seth’s part in it?”
Hannah stared at the tablecloth, brow furrowed. “No, I—” Her eyes widened. “Wait. She was there the day I met Chrissy for lunch, to talk about it. We did talk about Seth.”