She holds her hand out to help me up, and though I take it to be polite, I don’t pull on her a bit. I get up on my own, and Elena looks at me with something resembling approval. But that can’t be right. There’s no way after I lied and hid in her bathroom.

  “Come on, then. I think I’m gonna take a shot of whiskey in my tea. You too?” She turns and walks off, leaving me to follow or not.

  I shuffle after her, my Converse squeaking on the marble floor. “I’m sorry,” I tell her again as she pours a shot . . . make that two . . . into a glass sitting on a tray on the coffee table. I guess Nelda’s already been here. I feel guilty over her hard work fixing dinner and nobody eating it. Sitting down in the corner of the couch, I wish I could curl up but know better than to get my shoes on the furniture. Still, if I could become one with the arm of the couch, I would.

  “Enough apologies, dear. You want a skinny shot or a heavy-handed one like mine?” she asks, holding up the bottle of amber liquid.

  “Uh, skinny?” I don’t think I’ve ever had tea and whiskey before. The pour she makes is lighter than her own, but still longer than I would’ve done.

  She holds it out and then clinks her own glass to mine before sitting down. She takes a big sip, swallowing several times, and then sighs in bliss. When she looks at me expectantly, I take a tiny taste. It’s not half-bad, just a bit whooo on the alcohol. “Thanks.”

  “Okay, so tell me what all’s the truth and what all’s a lie. It appears I need a check-up on my bullshit-o-meter.”

  I take another drink of the tea instead, finding the burn of it going down less painful than the sour acid of the truth of what I’ve done. Eventually, though, the whiskey works its magic and loosens my tongue. I don’t know what all I say to Elena, but this time I know it’s all true.

  I laugh lightly as I tell her about how bad Carter is at remembering a damn thing about art. I plead with her to understand as I explain how much I wanted to see Thomas’s collection and how special it is to someone like me. I cry when I tell her about how Carter took care of me when I had a panic attack. I blush as I share that his kisses make me warm inside, all the way down to my toes, and that when his blue eyes lock onto me, I feel like I’m beautiful.

  “Even if that’s not really true. I mean, I know what Claire meant. Carter’s . . . Carter. And I’m . . . me. We’re not exactly a match made in heaven.”

  “You shut your mouth up. I may not be a walking lie detector, given the current situation, but I can see how that boy looks at you. Nobody needs to understand your love but you two.”

  I choke out a bitter laugh. “Love? I don’t think so. Carter would never fall in love with me. And despite being married to him, I don’t think a man who’d go to these lengths for a business deal is right for me, either. Money’s never been important to me like that. We don’t make sense.”

  “Never say never,” she replies.

  The doorbell rings, and Elena gets up. “I’ve got it, Stanley!” she shouts. Quieter, she tells me, “He’s around here somewhere, probably knows everything that’s happened. If I’m nosy, that old fella is Pinocchio.”

  She disappears, then reappears a moment later with Zack in tow. “See, just like I told you, she’s fine. Sipping on some truth serum tea.” She winks at me, and I realize that her offer of tea wasn’t entirely friendly, after all. She had ulterior motives too.

  Sitting down beside me, Zack asks, “What happened?”

  “Claire saw you and me and thought . . .” A shiver of ick makes my whole body wiggle in revulsion. "We got that straightened out, but I couldn’t do it anymore.” I look up, hoping he’ll understand. “I told Elena the truth.”

  “Damn, Moony,” he whispers. “You really know how to fuck shit up, don’t you? What about Carter?”

  My eyes fall again as I shrug. “He left.”

  “He. Left.” He’s saying the same thing I did, but it sounds quite different. I’m resolved, but Zack’s livid and trying to hide it. I know him well enough to recognize it.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him, trying to assuage his anger. “It doesn’t matter. Can we go home? I want to go home.”

  I let Zack and Elena walk me to the door, feeling like a zombie. “Should I have kept my mouth shut?” I wonder aloud, not sure who I’m asking.

  “No, dear,” Elena answers as she puts an arm around my shoulders. “You did what your heart told you to do, and listening to that beating muscle of self-direction is always the right thing.” She pats her chest, right over her heart, and I wonder what it’s telling her now. This old woman’s damn near Yoda with her levels of wisdom.

  But truthfully, she’s probably glad to be rid of us. Someone who lies to your face isn’t someone you want managing your money. And someone who wants you to lie will lie to you. I should’ve realized that about Carter sooner. Myself too, because I was too willing to go along with it. And for what?

  Seeing Thomas’s collection feels tainted now by my own deception. I didn’t deserve to see it.

  “Thanks for taking care of her, Mrs. Cartwright,” Zack tells Elena at the front door.

  I take one last look at the Eakin piece in the foyer, recalling the joy I felt seeing it the first time. How can I have disrespected such artwork, created with so much heart and imbued with so much meaning the way I did?

  “I’m sorry,” I say one more time. This time, it’s to Thomas.

  I’m quiet in the car after telling Zack that I don’t want to talk about it. He got the gist of it, anyway. I blew up Carter’s chance at the Cartwright portfolio. Thankfully, he respects my wish and says nothing until we get to my apartment. “Moony?” he says quietly. “I just want you to know, I’m sorry for getting you mixed up in this, and I love you. No matter what.”

  I nod and give him a small smile. “Thanks.”

  Walking into my apartment feels strange. I haven’t been here in a while, and it seems empty, even with Zack here with me.

  “Go put on comfy clothes or take a bath, maybe?” he offers, trying to comfort me, but there’s nothing he can do to fix this, and he’s not the best at feely stuff, anyway. Of course, neither am I.

  “A bath sounds nice,” I tell him, knowing I don’t have the energy to do any such thing. But I go into the bathroom and plug the drain, turning the water on high. The temperature doesn’t matter because I’m not getting in. I just need the noise to cover up what’s probably going to be an ugly cry.

  Instead, I sit on the toilet lid, hugging my knees to my chest and closing my eyes. But the tears don’t come. I just feel hollowed out, a shell of myself that doesn’t even have the energy to let go of the pain inside me.

  At some point, there’s a knock on the door. “I’m okay, Zack. I’m gonna go to bed after this. You can leave, but uh, thanks for coming to get me.”

  The door swings open. Damn it, people keep walking in on me in the bathroom tonight! But it’s not Zack, it’s Samantha.

  “See, I told you she wasn’t naked in here,” Sam informs Zack sassily. Zack has his hand over his eyes, presumably because he thought I was naked in the tub.

  “Luna?” Zack’s voice is quiet but tight. He’s probably upset that I lied to him too. Guess I’m making it a habit. The thought makes tears finally spill over, for some strange reason.

  “I got this,” Sam tells Zack, as though I’m not right here listening to them. She’s pushing him out the door, trying to close it in his face, but he’s not going easily.

  Despite all evidence to the contrary, I tell him, “I’m okay.”

  It doesn’t matter if he’s here or Sam’s here. All I’m going to do is sit and stew in my own mental anguish until I fall asleep. At most, I’ll paint if I feel up to it so I can get these emotions out onto canvas.

  Zack kisses my head, says something to Sam that I don’t hear, and then the front door opens and closes. I realize I never heard Sam arrive.

  “How long have you been here?” I ask.

  “Long enough to know what’s going on. Now, come on . . . let’s go to bed so we can fantasize about ways to kill Carter Harrington without getting caught.” Sam pulls the plug on the tub and takes my hand, pulling me to my feet. I don’t even care that her hand is wet, something that would usually bother the hell out of me.

  “Shoes off.” I kick out of my Converse, leaving them in a pile, and then crawl into my bed, jeans and all, to clutch my pillow. She climbs in beside me, sitting up with her back against the headboard. “Good. Alright, I’m leaning toward taking him to a farm somewhere and letting the pigs have at him. I heard that’s a good way to ditch a body.”

  She says it casually, as if a murder and body dumping fantasy is light conversation. I guess it’s normal post-breakup, though I wouldn’t know for sure since I’ve never broken up with someone. Especially not after something like this.

  Is it even a breakup if it was never real in the first place?

  I shake my head.

  “Too much? Okay, maybe we go the route of making his life hell instead? Normally, I’d say to freak him out with a STI scare, but that’s not really possible here.” She sounds sad about that fact, but it only reminds me that my only ‘real’ sexual experience is with Carter. I swear my body clenches at the thought of going back to only toys after knowing the way that Carter can make it sing. “What if we . . .”

  I don’t know how many ideas Sam comes up with. I think she’s trying to make me smile a bit by the time she suggests spraying fart spray into his car’s grill, laughing as she assures me it’ll make his Mercedes smell like a shit box forever. Eventually, I fall asleep with Sam still making suggestions.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  CARTER

  “Mr. Harrington will see you now.”

  Dad’s assistant is professional as always, but I can sense doom in her almost sonorous voice regardless.

  “Any hints on what’s up?” I lift my brows, aiming for charming to pull any info from her, but it hurts and I wince sharply. I move to touch the bruise above my left cheek but redirect my hand at the last moment and straighten my tie, not wanting to invite more questions than the ones already in her eyes.

  “I’m not at liberty to say,” she responds politely, choosing to ignore the black eye like the pro she is.

  “Of course.”

  I stand outside Dad’s door for a second, steeling myself. I know this is about the Cartwright opportunity. I haven’t told him about the shitshow from last night, but I have no doubt that he knows. Somehow, he always does. Like he can feel the disturbance in the atmosphere when something’s up with his children.

  And if he doesn’t, he’s going to know as soon as he sees me. I could have fought back against Zack, but I didn’t. I deserved every lump he could dish out.

  Entering the sanctum of my doom, I feign a casualness I don’t feel. “Hey, Dad, what’s up?”

  “What the hell happened to you?” Dad hisses, visibly recoiling when he looks at me.

  “Oh, it’s fine. You should see the other guy.” The joke lands flat, and Dad looks at me expectantly, silently demanding more of an explanation. “Zack and I had words. We’ll work it out.”

  “Zack did that?” Dad sounds more impressed than angry. “Why?”

  I don’t get a chance to explain because Dad’s speaker buzzes. “Mr. Harrington, your ten o’clock is here.”

  “Want me to come back later?” I ask, hoping for an escape.

  Dad firmly points to a chair. “This meeting is about you, apparently. Sit down.”

  Confused, I lower to the chair as the door opens, but when Dad’s assistant shows Claire Reynolds in, I stand up quickly. “What are you doing here?”

  “Nice to see you too, Carter. Looks like you got a bit of what you deserved last night,” she says smugly, gently touching the area below her eye.

  “What he deserved?” Dad echoes harshly.

  I’d like to think he’s on my side and doesn’t appreciate anyone suggesting that one of his children deserves a beatdown, but realistically, he probably just wants answers. And wants them now.

  “He hasn’t told you? Forgive me for letting the cat out of the bag,” Claire says obsequiously, clearly gleeful to be the one to slip the knife in between my ribs. “We had dinner together at the Cartwright estate last night. It was eventful to say the least.”

  I see Dad’s tiny flinch at hearing the Cartwright name. He thinks he knows what this is all about now. He ordered me to tell Elena the truth and assumes I did as much, making this his opportunity to smooth over the fallout.

  Except he has no idea how deep this goes.

  Dad turns on his trademark charm. “It’s nice to see you again, though the ‘eventful’ comment has me worried.” He stands to offer her a handshake, which she takes with a delicate touch.

  “You should be, Mr. Harrington. I’m afraid I’m here with some serious concerns.” As she sits, she side eyes me to make her point clear.

  Dad and I sit back down and dread fills my gut. I spent all night trying to figure out a way to fix this, but there’s no coming back from it, no matter how much I wish it wasn’t so.

  When Zack came barreling through my door last night, shouting and throwing a clean hook to my eye followed by a punch to my gut before really getting to work, I let him. I didn’t care because the truth was that I was thinking about Luna.

  I was bent over and wheezing when Zack snarled at me. “I knew this would fucking happen. I warned you, thinking maybe you’d stop being led around by your dick and use your brain for a change. Especially with my sister.”

  “Is Luna okay?” I gasp out.

  “No thanks to you, but yeah. She’s home, bawling her eyes out with Samantha. You should lock your door because Sam’s crazy as shit and will probably go for a little light BnE tonight and make what I’m about to do look like love taps.”

  “Aww, you do care,” I grunt, smiling through the pain as he hammers me in the ribs again. Not the face, baby. It’s the moneymaker.

  “Fuck you, Carter. Leave my sister alone.”

  Standing but still hunched a bit, I clarify, “We still having lunch later this week?”

  “Yeah. Your treat.”

  Zack had left, but I’d been stuck on the image of Luna crying and hadn’t been able to focus properly on what I could do to fix this deal. Now, ready or not, it’s showtime.

  “I’m happy to hear any concerns you might have,” Dad tells Claire, throwing the door wide open for her to fully destroy me.

  She smiles evilly but schools her face into something more akin to concern as if she just remembered that she’s not supposed to be smug about this situation.

  “Dad—” I start, but he holds up a hand, cutting me off.

  “Ms. Reynolds,” he says, giving her back the floor.

  “Thank you. I had concerns from the get-go when Carter approached my aunt, but after last night . . .” She fades off, making a clicking sound with her tongue. “Well, suffice it to say, I’m alarmed at the way he’s represented Blue Lake Assets.”

  She looks around Dad’s office as though it’s a used car salesman’s trailer, playing to Dad’s deepest concern—the legacy of the family business.

  “What exactly happened?”

  “I think you have some idea, given that you also referred to Luna as Carter’s wife during the dinner at your home.” The accusation is bold, especially given the disappointed tone she adopts.

  Dad sighs and shoots me a look of frustration before returning his attention to Claire. “Yes, unfortunately,” he starts, weaving his fingers together on his desktop. “After dinner, Carter and I discussed that the misunderstanding about his marriage needed to be addressed. I presume this is about that.”

  Claire narrows her eyes, assessing Dad again. “Yes . . . and no. Carter didn’t say anything about his marriage after our initial dinner. But I could feel something was off about them—I’m perceptive that way. And when I happened to see Luna out for a cozy dinner with another man? I knew I was right.” She taps a fingernail to her temple as she nods, agreeing with herself.

  I try to interrupt to explain, but Dad nearly imperceptibly shakes his head. I inhale deeply, biting back the words . . . for now.

  “I tried to get Aunt Elena to see reason. But she’d had a meeting with Carter and our family financial planner and felt it’d gone well.”

  A tiny jolt of satisfaction shoots through me. I knew I’d aced that meeting.

  “She wouldn’t listen, no matter how many times I told her. She’s gotten a bit stubborn and is quite scatter-brained. But she did talk to Luna and invite them over last night. I joined them, hoping to clear the air—”

  “You mean gleefully accuse Luna of cheating on me with her brother?” I can’t sit here idly while Claire paints herself as the picture-perfect niece trying to look out for the forgetful old lady. That’s not at all what’s going on.

  “Carter,” Dad says sternly.

  “There may have been a misunderstanding there. I guess the dinner was with her brother.” She rolls her eyes as if that’s a mere minor detail, and then she drops another bomb. “But Luna was quite clear—although a bit hysterical—when she explained that their marriage was a sham . . . and then became quite real. Very real, by the looks of it.”

  Dad leans forward sharply. “Excuse me?” he demands of Claire, but then his eyes jump to me. “Carter, what is she talking about?”

  I meet his eyes brazenly. “Lying doesn’t suit a Harrington—something you’ve told me my entire life—so I made it the truth.”

  “I told you to tell the truth, not make it the truth!” he barks. “Did you actually marry Luna Starr?”

  “I did.” I nod, but then confess, “Though it’s not going well right now.”

  Claire snorts out a laugh. “I’d say.”

  Dad’s had about all he can take and turns on Claire. “I appreciate your bringing this to my attention, Ms. Reynolds. It appears Carter and I need to have a private conversation to discuss some family business.”

  She balks, probably wanting to see me get smacked down by Dad, but when he stands with his hand out, she has no choice but to follow suit. Claire shakes Dad’s hand, again barely and delicately touching him, and then looks down her nose at me.