The buzzing in her ears increased in volume.
Except he’d just told her that no,hedidn’t kill her mother, his father had.
“Bullshit.” Emily exhaled in a ragged gasp. She’d been holding her breath, but now she managed to inhale, too, filling her lungs with desperately needed oxygen.
“I should’ve told you in the grocery store,” he said. “When you didn’t recognize me.”
“You’re a liar,” she said. “You didn’t tell me because you’re a liar.” She got louder. “Because you’re.” And louder. “A fucking!” And louder. “Liar!”
He was glancing around them now, because yes, peoplewerestarting to look in their direction.
“Were you stalking me?” she asked because God damn it,she wanted to know, except out of everything ridiculously awful that she’d imagined—he was already married with a wife hidden in the attic of his Scottish estate—she’d never even dreamed it could be this. He was Milton Devonshire Junior. The dinner she’d only half-eaten roiled in her stomach.
“No,” he said quietly. “I was just... I checked up on you from time to time.”
Emily exhaled her disbelief. “How is that not stalking?” she asked. “Isn’t that, like, the exact definition of stalking...?”
What was she doing, standing here talking to him? She briskly started walking away, reaching into her bag for her phone—which, damnit, she’d left back in the hotel room safe. So getting an Uber was not an option, she was going to have to walk. Where was she? She oriented herself. North. Their hotel was north and east of the restaurant where they’d had dinner. She turned to walk in that direction.
Mick—shit,Miltfollowed her. “Em, you met him, my father. He was awful. Because of what he did, I always felt like I had this... this... connection to you. When he killed your mother, he destroyedmylife, too.”
She stopped short, and the pedestrian traffic streamed around them as she said, “I’m supposed to believe you when you say things likehe killed your mother, except you’re a fucking liar—lying right to my face formonths.”
He winced—a move that just a few minutes ago she would’ve described as being pure Mick. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“I have to go home,” she said, walking again. Where was the hotel? She should be able to see it from here. Yup. There it was. Too far in the distance, but at least she could see it.
“Okay,” he said, keeping stride.
She looked at him. “Not with you.”
“You can take my car. My keys are back in the room?—”
“Nope.”
He nodded. “Can I at least find you a car and driver?—”
“Not with youmeansnot with you starting right now,” Emily told him. “In fact, give me your key card—to the hotel room.”
“Em...”
She held out her hand, gesturing impatiently as he dug for his wallet. “I need to get my stuff, and I don’t want you in there while I’m packing. You can wait in the lobby. I’ll give you the keys—both of them—when I leave.”
There were tears in his eyes as he handed her his key card. “Em, I’m really sorry,” he said.
“I don’t believe you,” she said and walked away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Jules: Age Seventeen
Connecticut
As Sadie walked into the party, Jules watched Rodney who was doing his own private version of Sadie’s acting prep. The boy closed his eyes and went inward, shaking his head very slightly.
“Come on, Rod,” Hobbit breathed from the mulch beside Jules, as they hid in the thicket at the edge of Carter’s yard.
Sadie’s “costume” had been discussed endlessly during their meetings at the summer house. Belle had wanted her to get dressed up—tight jeans, high heels, crop top that featured a set of dance-class honed, pop-star-worthy abs that Sadie usually kept hidden beneath her baggie Ts. Product in her hair and more makeup on her face than she usually wore.
