There was a loud rapping on the door. “A few more minutes,” I called out. I spun around and made Caleb face me. He took me in his arms, his eyebrows drawn. I felt his warmth seeping into me. He was quiet for a long time.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“God, Caleb. It’s my family’s dirty little secret. I was ashamed.” I had to bend my head all the way back to look into his face. He made me feel small and protected.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of. It’s them — I can’t even imagine.”
He shook his head. “Is that why your father won’t walk you down the aisle today?” He narrowed his eyes, and I blushed. I’d told him that my father’s gout was acting up. No holds barred. I nodded. My father had told me a week earlier that he would not be escorting me down the aisle. I hadn’t really expected him to.
Caleb swore. He hardly ever swore in front of me. I could see how angry he was. “That’s why he gave you the job.” It wasn’t a question. He was piecing things together. I nodded. He looked so enraged; I knew my plan was working.
“Caleb … don’t leave me,” my lip quivered. “Please … I love you.”
He grabbed me almost roughly and pulled me into his arms. I clutched him, not caring about my makeup or my hair. This was the way into his heart. I played his compassion, and I played his need to protect things that were broken and lost.
The knocking on the door resumed. Caleb held me at arm’s length and looked at me. Something had transitioned in his eyes. I’d become something else to him in the moment I’d shared my secret. Had I known that would happen? Had I intentionally held off on telling him the truth in case something like this ever happened?
He lightly ran a finger from my hairline, straight down my forehead across my nose, over my lips and down my neck.
“You’re stunning,” he said. “Can I walk you down the aisle?”
My heart skipped, skidded, flew … did a fucking happy dance. He was going to marry me.
“Yes, please.”
“Leah…”
“Yes?”
“I won’t hurt you. I’ll take care of you. Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” I lied.
Chapter Twenty-Three Present
She looks the same. Raven hair hanging wildly to her waist. She looks almost gypsy-like in her teal linen pants and a cream sheath shirt that hangs casually off one defined shoulder. I eye her gold hoop earrings, which are big enough to fit my entire hand through. They make her look exotic and slightly dangerous. She has always made me feel plain.
Her eyes rove over the handful of occupants in the diner, searching for a face she recognizes: an old man, a couple who share the same side of a booth, two servers folding silverware into napkins … and me.
I see the shock overcome her features — the parting of her lips, the slight spreading of white around her irises. Suddenly, she stiffens. Her eyes chase to the four corners of the room, and I know she is looking for him. I shake my head to tell her he’s not here. I take a sip of my coffee and I wait.
She moves with purpose toward my table. When she reaches where I am sitting, she doesn’t sit but stares at me expectantly.
“An old client?” She says dryly.
“Well, I am, aren’t I?” I motion for her to sit. I’d sent an anonymous message to her office, claiming I was an old client in desperate legal trouble. I’d asked her to meet me at a diner named Tiffany’s. I had no idea if she’d come or not, but it was better than showing up at her office.
She slides cautiously into the seat across from me, never taking her eyes from my face.
“Well, what the fuck do you want?”
I flinch. Louboutins or not, she’s still the same crass piece of white trash she used to be.
“I thought maybe you could look over this document for me.” I reach into my purse and pull out the papers I’d stolen from Caleb’s filing cabinet. Placing them on the table, I slide them toward her.
“What is this?” she asks. She eyes me distastefully. How dare she look at me that way? She has singlehandedly ruined my life. I’d have everything if it weren’t for her devious, overreaching hands.
I’d probably also be in prison. I push that thought away. Now is not the time for gratitude. Now is the time for answers. I poke the document in front of her.
“Take a look. See for yourself.”
Without moving her head, she looks at the papers then back to me. It’s a smooth, hard, impressive piece of intimidation. The art of her body language is something to be admired.
“Why would I want to do that?” she says.
She’s making me feel chilled. I get a flashback of being on the witness stand, and my heart rate spikes. I practice to see if I can do it too.
“It’s Caleb’s,” I say, only moving my lips.
I don’t know whether it’s the mention of his name or if my imitation of her body language is working, but she tenses.
A server approaches our table. Olivia reaches for the papers.
“Get her a coffee, two creamers.” I say, waving him away. He hurries off. Olivia, who is reading, briefly glances up at me. I spent almost every day with her for nine months. I know what she likes.
I sip my coffee as she reads, watching her face.