I frowned. “I do?”
She touched my lips. “In a good way, Matt.” She squinted at the magazine—a nervous tic of hers—and flipped it open to a page displaying “do-it-yourself string accents and lanterns.” She pointed to a nighttime photo of a large, sprawling oak with dozens of mason jars hanging from its branches, tea lights shining in the glass.
I kissed her shoulder.
“That’s lovely,” I said.
“Yeah?” She searched my expression. “It’s … simple and … intimate.”
“Mm. Great atmosphere.”
Hannah practically vibrated with happiness on my lap. This side of her—the feminine “ooh”ing and “aah”ing over bridal magazines—surprised me, but pleasantly. I wanted to make her happier. I would give her anything. A fucking fairy-tale wedding. A cake ten stories tall.
I opened to another tagged page displaying more candlelit nighttime scenes. Jars filled with glass beads and lights, papier-maché luminaries.
Hannah peeked at me continually.
“An evening ceremony, then,” I said.
She plucked the magazine from me and tossed it onto the desk.
“Oh, I don’t know. Whatever you want. Something … simple.”
“I want what you want.” I slid her off my lap and stood. “You know I love the evening. The night.” I moved to lean against the door. Now I needed a little distance from Hannah. If she kept giving me those coy looks through her long lashes, we’d have to go another round.
She scooted up to her desk.
“Cool,” she said, her eyes downcast. Her fingers danced over the keyboard. She straightened a pile of papers.
“Work.”
“Hm?” Her head shot up.
“I want to watch you work.”
“Um. I can try.”
“Forget I’m here.”
“No chance of that,” she said with a giggle. After some dithering, she began reading from the computer screen and typing. She glanced at a paper, typed some more. Licked her lips. Looked at me. I smiled and shook my head.
With a huff, she refocused on the screen.
I stood very still, and Hannah’s work finally absorbed her. Calm confidence came into her expression. She reclined in her chair as she read, then leaned forward to jot down notes.
The future Mrs. Hannah Sky, working the job she’d refused to give up for me. Good for her. I felt clean, happy pride watching her, and Mike’s questions passed back through my mind.
Would you be comfortable if she felt this proprietary about your body?
Would you allow her to humiliate, dominate, and punish you?
I slipped out of the office while Hannah wasn’t looking.
I just might, Mike. I just might.
Chapter 15
HANNAH
I ate lunch at the Mediterranean deli every day that week, but I didn’t see Katie.
Maybe I’d freaked her out, or maybe she’d had second thoughts about tattling on Bethany. Either way, her disappearance—and the questions she’d spawned—unsettled me.
On Friday evening, I swung by the deli after work. The outdoor tables were empty, plastic tablecloths fluttering in a warm wind.
I strolled along the sidewalk? humming.
The universe seemed to be telling me to make my peace with Katie’s absence. Plus, I did feel a little guilty listening to potential lies about Matt. I should have told him about Katie, just like I should have told him about Seth and Chrissy. But now Katie was gone, taking her weird claims with her, and I didn’t need to tell Matt anything.
And anything I wanted to know about Matt, I could ask him. Right?
I tucked my hands into my jean pockets—casual Friday.
Asking Matt questions … easier said than done.
I turned a street corner aimlessly, enjoying the summer evening.
I shot a text to Matt as I walked.
Doing some shopping, might be home a little later than usual.
He replied quickly.