“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.”
I stabbed my fork into a chunk of lobster. Of fucking course.
My appetite was fading; I fed the bite into Hannah’s mouth. She washed it down with a swig of wine.
“She eavesdropped.” I leaned my brow into my palm. “That e-mail I received in New Jersey … who else would send such a thing, and benefit from sending it?”
We sat in silence, wondering at the depth of Bethany’s anger.
I had broken up with her nearly a year ago, but she wasn’t moving on—clearly. Maybe our saccharine appearance on the Denver Buzz had rekindled her anger. All that talk of love and marriage … and Night Owl, our passion made a public spectacle.
Throwing our happiness in Bethany’s face.