“What are you not saying, Dorian?”
“I don’t know, but I get the sense you care, so I’m afraid to say it.”
“I do care. I love that book.” I take another drink from my glass, guilt climbing in my stomach at the realization that I’m backing him into a trap and the lid is about to close. “But we don’t have to share opinions. We can like different books and still like each other.”
“I did like it,” he insists. “The stakes were high. I read it fast because I needed to get to the end.”
“But?”
“But it was easy to predict. I’m sure it’s a casualty of the job, but I have an easier time predicting outcomes now that I understand story structure so well.”
I know what he means. But still…predictable? My hands clench around my fork. It’s fine. What thriller writer doesn’t want to be told her twists are easy to see coming? I stab a piece of chicken and put it in my mouth. Wow, it’s good.
“If the doctor hadn’t been at the mental hospital so early in the book, maybe I wouldn’t have seen it coming.”
His words make me freeze. I consider my story. Think about the role the doctor plays in each character’s life. “What?”
“You know…how he’s insane. I wondered if that was his deal for most of the book. But if he hadn’t been in the mental hospital at the beginning, that thought wouldn’t have been planted in my head, and I totally would have been shocked by the twist.”
I finish chewing, thinking it through. He’s right. He’s totally right. And what’s even worse is that the scene in question didn’t even have to happen at the hospital. It was meant to be a little foreshadowing, but apparently it was too much.
“How’s the chicken?” he asks.
“Incredible.”
Dorian looks pleased. He eats, but I can’t because I’m thrown.
I was prepared to be sad that someone I care about doesn’t like the thing I poured my soul into, but I agree with his points. And what’s even worse is that I feel like crap for tricking him into telling me what he really thinks.
I set my fork down and push my plate away.
“Hey,” he says softly, rubbing my shoulder and being too nice. “What’s going on?”
Looking into his deep brown eyes makes this worse. They’re so concerned. He’s going to be hurt. I suppress the temptation to keep this secret forever. That would be the easy thing to do here, but I can already tell that I won’t be able to eat another bite until I’ve purged myself of this secret and told him the truth.
I don’t know whether he’ll be more angry or hurt, or which one will be worse. Sucking in a breath, I square my shoulders and take a leap. “It’s me, Dorian. I’m Clancy Calloway.”
thirteen
dorian
There’sno way I heard Piper correctly.
She blinks at me, waiting earnestly for me to respond. But I can’t. I have nothing to say. Or maybe the problem is that I have too many things to ask.
“You?” I finally get out, like the wordsmith I am.
“Yeah.” Her shoulders are bunched, stress radiating from her in waves. “It’s a secret pen name.”
“Does anyone know about it?” I’m starting to wonder if Ravi’s endcap display was intentional.
“Just my parents and Elena.”
So, no then. My mind is spinning, running over all the conversations we’ve had about Clancy’s books—aboutPiper’sbooks. I feel tricked. I called them predictable and convenient.
Great. She probably hates me.
My stomach churns. “Why did you let me talk about the book?”
