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“What’s wrong?” I asked, involuntarily reaching for her hand for perhaps the first time in my life. We’d never been close, Darla and me. The circumstances just didn’t lend themselves to it. But she’d always been warmer to me than she had to be. Warmer than Tiffany and the boys. Warmer than Fletcher, most of the time. And unlike Fletcher, she’d never wanted anything from me.
Darla turned her hand palm up to meet mine and squeezed back. “Nothing’s wrong, darling. It’s just–well, something wrong has been done, and I think I need to right it.” She pressed her lips together, then managed a weak smile. “You see, I know what my husband put you up to with Julian Lewis. I didn’t like it, but he’s not a man to be dissuaded once his mind is made up.”
The understatement was so extreme that I could have laughed, but it was all so strange. Had she really brought me up here just to tell me she thought that Fletcher had done something wrong? If that was all it was, why did she keep glancing around at every slight creak and crack? “No, he isn’t,” I agreed instead. “But I’m a big girl, Darla. I could have told him no.”
It was hard to say whether I was talking about Fletcher or Julian. I suppose in the end, they were one and the same. My mouth took on a bitter twist that I couldn’t shape into a smile, no matter how hard I tried. “I’m not sure there’s any way to right the wrong, though. And I was just as much in the wrong, if you think about it.”
Darla squeezed my hand again, more urgently this time. “I don’t mean Fletcher’s plan or your part in it, Willow. I mean what happened when Fletcher found out that you were giving him bad information.”
I froze. I’d never known for sure that Fletcher had realized the extent of my treachery. Improbable as it seemed, I had figured that he hadn’t. I didn’t know how he’d missed it, exactly. I’d chalked it up to some sort of blind arrogance. He was so used to seeing me as the little castoff who desperately wanted his affection and attention that he hadn’t noticed I’d grown up. That I’d changed. And if hehadknown, why would he have let her invite me to his birthday party tonight?
The memory of Fletcher spotting me earlier played itself in my head. The strange look crossing his face, his mouth pausing mid-word. He hadn’t known. She’d invited me without telling him. But why?
“What do you mean what happened when Fletcher found out?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at Darla. What game wassheplaying now, inviting me here when she knew I’d be unwelcome?
“He lied to you, Willow.” Darla looked furtively around again and lowered her already soft voice. “He realized that you were sleeping with Julian and weren’t on his side anymore, and he wanted to hurt you. He wanted to hurt both of you.”
“I saw the picture of him and his fiancé at dinner with his family,” I said stoically. “The truth hurt worse than any lie he could have told.”
“Oh, but that’s the thing, darling. He doesn’t have a fiancé. Heisn’tengaged.”
A log cracked in the fireplace. Sparks snapped free and shot up the chimney. Darla and I both jumped. Her nerves settled as she spotted the source of the noise. Mine didn’t. They remained jumping underneath my skin. I turned to stare at Darla’s again, unable to believe what she’d just said. It was too good to be true. This had to be a dream. “What do you mean he isn’t engaged?” I asked, dazed. “I saw the picture. The ring.”
“Shelly Monroe is engaged, but not to Julian.”
I shook my head, disbelievingly. “No, they have a history.”
“She’s engaged toDana. The press got the story confused because for a while, Julian was the front. His father is…” Darla raised her shoulders and let them fall back. “I hear he’s gotten more open minded in the last couple of years.”
I wasn’t listening anymore though. The information sinking in slowly, and I was left reeling. Julian wasn’t engaged. He hadn’t been cheating. Not with me, nor on me. For a moment, the burden that I’d carried around on my shoulders slipped off and I felt wonderfully light and free. I’d go to him right now. I’d tell him everything.
But then the weight slipped right back into place. Just because Julian had been absolved didn’t mean I had.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said dully. “He still hates me.”
Darla’s face was an open book of understanding and sympathy. “Give him a chance to forgive you. And what have you done, really?”
“I lied to him.”
Darla lifted a slim, elegant shoulder and let it drop. She made a dismissive noise. “Every woman lies. It’s our right. Every man does, too, and it is not his right.”
I was surprised that I still had the ability to laugh, but I did. “I don’t know about that double standard, Darla.”
“Think about it,” she pressed. “You lied, yes. But then what did you do to hurt him? Nothing. You sent Fletcher on wild goose chases anddid your job. The one Julian hired you for, not your father.”
“Still.” I shook my head, unable to believe that all the hurt could be undone so easily.
Darla reached out and gently cupped my chin, forcing me to meet her eyes again. “You think I didn’t hate Fletcher for what he did?”
“I assumed you still hate him,” I said honestly. I figured that first it was the pregnancy that kept Darla with Fletcher, and then the money. I didn’t judge her for it for a minute.
I could tell by her expression that Darla knew exactly what I’d thought, and she understood. “I stayed for reasons other than love to begin with,” she said. “But then I forgave him. Because it’s very, very hard to stay angry with someone you love. Even if you know you shouldn’t love them.”
I leaned back into the couch, letting my body relax more than I ever had inside of this house. Darla’s hand had slipped back down to loosely hold mine. The fire was simmering low in the hearth, and I was surrounded by warmth on all sides. Again, an unusual sensation in this house. I thought of the party going on down below. We’d only been gone five minutes, but we’d have to go back soon. My disappearance might go unnoticed, but not the hostess’s. I couldn’t bring myself to suggest it, though. My mind was filled to overflowing with her words. “You think Julian will forgive me because he loves me?” I asked quietly.
“I do.”
I turned the idea over in my head. It was too big to be conceivable just yet, so I thought about it another way. “And I suppose if he doesn’t forgive me, that means he doesn’t love me. Not anymore, anyway.”
