“That’s not an answer, you total asshole!” I press my hands to the top of my head as it begins to pulse.
“It was simply a gift.”
“A loaner,” I insist.
“A friendship ring,” he amends.
I bark out a laugh. I’m so far from being amused, so far from feeling like his friend. Duality, my ass. He’s as twisted as they come.Why can’t I get this into my thick head?
“No one is going to mistake that monstrosity for a betrothal,” he adds.
“They won’t need to speculate because of that ... that fantasy from Una Smith!”“Women everywhere are cheering for you,” she’d said. Like she cares!“I am so slow on the uptake.”
“You’re just built to look for the good in people.”
“Like I said, ‘stupid.’ Stupid for agreeing to this scheme. Stupid for still being here.”
“And here you’ll stay,” he replies silkily. “There’s no backing out now, unless you’d like to stay in the UK at His Majesty’s pleasure, thanks to a little visa fraud.”
“My God, I made a mistake when I saw good in you.”
“Yes, that’s probably true. Sit down, Eve.” He moves the chair a little, his words barely an invitation.
I cross the room, because what else can I do?Start throwing things at him?“I wish to hell I understood what you’re getting out of this.” I feel like I’m missing something. Whatever it is, I feel like it’s there, but just out of frame.
“There’s your reaction to this.” He puts his phone on the table as he takes his own seat.
“You like seeing me angry?” If looks could kill ...
His smile is measured, almost provocative. “Remember when I said Mitchell would become the poster boy for fuckups? That the impact will leak into his life, affect his decisions? This is what it looks like.”
“It looks like you and me getting engaged?” I ask doubtfully.
“Think of his attempts at manipulating the narrative. A Little Bird’s previous posts, dragging your name through the mud. His suggestion that you’re as guilty as him, that he might be the true injured party. And making images of your personal belongings available on the internet.”
My wand.Given my anger, you’d think I wouldn’t have the emotional bandwidth for embarrassment. You’d be wrong.
“But that’s all directed at me.”
“Because he can’t get at me. He’s becoming desperate, and I want that. I want to see him frantic. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
Tears of stupidity prick in my eyes. This isn’t even about me—I’m just the means to an end—this is more about the past.More about Lucy.She must’ve really done a number on him.
“So you went to Una,” I assert, forcing back my emotions. “You made a deal with her.”
“It seemed the better option. For one, a defamation claim isn’t immediate. It might also have brought more publicity to his accusations.”
“Isn’t that what you just said you wanted?”
“I also said I don’t want you to suffer as a consequence.”
“That’s a cold kind of comfort, Oliver.” I can’t look at him and resort to fidgeting with the linen napkin.I don’t want him to hurt you. But I’ll hurt you myself.“Because I still look stupid. One minute I’m about to marry him; the next, you.”
“People will always have opinions. Caring about them is a choice.” Reaching out, he loops a lock of hair behind my ear before I can pull away. “I don’t care what people think. The only person I need you to convince is the man you’ll meet this weekend.”
“The house,” I say flatly. At least it’s not all about Lucy.
“The estate, yes.”
