I don’t think I can say those words out loud.
Part of me wants to, but speaking them out loud to her might cause me to actually vomit all over the sheets…and Carolyn.
“It’s not a bug.”
I feel Carolyn’s movement rather than see it—the straightening of her back. “Q, did something happen at work?”
“Not at work, no.” In spite of myself, a painful lump rises in my throat, and tears prick at the corner of my eyes, threatening to spill out and down my cheeks. Without turning to face her, I choke out what little of the truth I can manage. “Christian and I—we’re over.”
“Oh, no,” she says, and I can hear the sympathy in her voice. “I’m so sorry, Quinn. I really thought—” Her sentence trails off, and she reaches out to pat my shoulder. “I know how excited you were to be with him. That’s awful.”
Pressing my lips into a thin line, I swallow the tightness in my throat and roll over onto my back. “It’s probably for the best.”
Carolyn’s face is a mask of concern. “Do you want me to stay with you today? We could go shopping, have lunch—take your mind off things.”
I shake my head. “It’s pathetic, I know, but I think I need a day just to…process everything.”
That couldn’t be more true.
“Okay,” she says, standing up. “If you get hungry, order from wherever you want. It’s on me. I’ve got running tabs just about everywhere in the city.” I give her a small smile. Carolyn is a good friend. If nothing else, I have that. “And there’s ice cream in the freezer. Help yourself.”
“I will.”
Carolyn wags a finger at me. “You’re not spending the entire weekend in bed, though. Not even over a guy like Christian Pierce. We’re going to have fun. At least, I’m going to have fun. All you have to do is come with me.”
It makes me laugh, and my heart lightens a little. “It’s a deal.
I spend the rest of the day parked on the couch. At first my heart is numb and then it’s throbbing, alternating every minute.
I don’t know what to think.
I don’t know how to feel.
My initial terror has subsided, at least a little. Maybe I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, but if Christian was some kind of serial murderer and had it in for me, I’d be dead by now.
On top of that, a suspicious death like that would have been investigated. Especially for someone like him. If there had been any hint of foul play, Carolyn would have told me about it. There’s no way she would have let me get involved with a potentially dangerous person, even if they had been friends since they were in boarding school.
There’s no way she would remain friends with a murderer. I’m sure of that.
It still doesn’t explain why he stole his brother’s identity.
Even if he did it in a moment of grief—why keep up the facade for another ten years?
Something else is going on with him.
I don’t want anything to do with it.
That’s a lie.
My heart collapses again, and tears come to my eyes. The awful truth is that I miss the fuck out of Christian. I felt alive when I was with him, complete in a way that I hadn’t since I found out what Derek was doing.
That whole thing threw me for a loop.
I didn’t deserve to be cheated on. I was attentive and funny and supportive and all the things a fiancée is supposed to be.
“Ugh,” I groan to the empty room. That’s not the point. Derek should have been honest, even if he wasn’t happy with the way I was.
Christian should have been honest, too.
But it’s not just me he’s been lying to.
That’s the scariest part about this. He’s been fooling everyone—his father, his friends—for a decade, and for what?
I can’t figure it out.
I want to pick up my phone right now and call him, demanding to know why the hell he did what he did. He could have at least told me, a woman he claimed to love. A woman he claimed to love after ten years of refusing to date anyone seriously.
What would you have done then?
Exactly what you did.
Jesus, the truth hurts.
There’s no good way to admit to another person that you’ve been living a lie for ten years. When you lie about something that fundamental it colors everything else. What wouldn’t he lie about if he would lie about his own identity? Did he even really love me?
A sob catches in my throat. I can’t be certain, but I felt it, and I thought it was real.
I know with certainty it was—it is—real for me.
Can I help it that part of me wants him back?
Chapter 40
Christian
“Mr. Pierce?”
I’m just beginning to rouse up from the black, peaceful depths of alcohol-induced sleep, and the voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater.
No. I don’t want to wake up.
All I want is to go back in time, destroy that fucking journal, and keep Quinn in bed with me all night, for the rest of my life.
I bury my head back under the pillow and squeeze my eyes shut.
The knock comes again.
“Mr. Pierce?”