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“She unwraps the book. It’s a hardcover first edition ofThe Catcher in the Rye, which is—I probably should have mentioned this before—the book we talked about when we first met each other. It was the topic of our very first conversation, and the start of me falling in love with her.”
“Oh, my,” Mrs. Meyer sighs, while her hand flies up to her heart. “How lovely.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing, keeping my lips pressed into a thin line as I fight to hold it together.
Did he just come up with this on the spot? Why would he do this to me? Why come up with such an overly sentimental and beautiful story, as if he actually cared about me? And he is reciting it with such conviction, too. EvenIam dangerously close to believing him.
“And what happened then?” Mrs. Meyer presses, almost childlike in her excitement for Logan’s cheesy tale.
“Well, it’s funny actually,” Logan says. “Kat got so excited when she realized what book it was, she bounced up from her seat to come and hug me. She didn’t even notice the ring I’d hidden between the pages. It fell out on the floor when she jumped toward me, and before she realized what was happening, I was down on my knees, fetching the ring from the floor and holding it up to her, asking her to become my wife.”
He adds a pause, leaving room for Mrs. Meyer to sigh in adoration, before she looks at me—and becomes the first to notice the tears dwelling in my eyes.
“Oh, look at that, you must have been so touched!”she exclaims, caressing my arm, as if we’d known each for longer than just a few minutes.
I’m strong enough not to recoil from her touch, but unable to stop the tears. She’s right, Logan’s story was touching, very poignant indeed—but it was also a lie. Just like everything else about him.
I can’t bear this. I can’t just stand here and pretend that my tears are born out of affection when, in reality, they are tears of pain.
I can’t do this.
“I’m sorry,” I manage to produce—before I turn around and run off as quickly as my heels allow.
Chapter 31
Logan
I catch up with her just as she is about to enter the ladies’room. My right hand snakes around her upper arm a moment before she gets to push the door open.
“What the fuck was that all about?” I ask, as I force her to turn around.
Tears are streaming down her face and her cheeks are flushed when she looks at me. Deep anguish is written all over her face—but I have no idea why.
All I know is thatIcannot bear to see her like this, especially if I’m responsible for her agony in any way.
Am I, though? What did I do to upset her?
She doesn’t say anything, but yanks herself free of my grip and puts distance between us by taking a decisive step back.
“Kat, talk to me,” I urge. “What the hell happened?”
“Nothing happened!”she claims, and another surge of tears gushes out of her. “Just leave me alone. Go away. Go backtotelling those people what a great guy you are.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, trying to soothe her by placing my hand on her shoulder. But she jerks away from my touch.
“Don’t!”she exclaims, a little too loudly.
She peers to the side, as do I, to check whether her outburst has drawn any unwanted attention to us. But, thankfully, we’re alone in a deserted corridor, far away from the hustle and bustle of the festivities inside the hall.
“Just go back. I’ll be fine,” Kat mutters. “I just need to be alone for a moment.”
“I’m not leaving you alone,” I insist. “Something is obviously bothering you and I—”
“Yes,youare bothering me!”she interrupts, outright yelling at me now.
I hear a gasp coming from somewhere behind me, and when I look back over my shoulder, I see two women, both middle-aged and dressed in upscale evening gowns, most likely attendees at the gala—and thus the last people on Earth who should witness this conversation. Their mouths fall open as they stare at us, and I raise my hand in an appeasing manner, casting them a polite smile, before I turn back to Kat.
“Come, let’s go somewhere and talk,” I say in a low voice.
