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“She let you think…”
“Yes,” my response is short, but I’m not annoyed with Hannah.
I’m irritated she’s focused on the part of my past that has always bothered me the most. The few people who know about Candace and me are typically too caught up in the scandal and the torrid affair to comprehend there was a point when I thought I’d be a father.
“I’m sorry.”
“I probably deserved it.”
“You didn’t.” Hannah’s voice is fiercer than I’ve ever heard it. “Youdidn’t, Oliver.”
“I told Crew about us. Not the marriage, but everything else.”
“What did he say?”
“He was…surprised.”
“I don’t have to go tomorrow.”
“I want you to.”
She’s silent for a minute. “I’m going dress-shopping in the morning. I asked my friend Savannah to help me pick something out, since I didn’t bring anything to wear.”
“I want you to go, Hannah. But you don’t have to, if you don’t want to. For any reason.”
Another long pause, as she plays with the fringe of the blanket. “I don’t do things I don’t want to do, Oliver,” she finally says.
She’s talking about the wedding, I know.
But I can’t help but wonder what else she might be referring to.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
HANNAH
When I wake up, I’m alone in bed.
The surroundings are familiar. I’ve spent the past four nights sleeping in Oliver’s penthouse, since I requested to work Thursday and Friday out of the New York office so I could stay here through the weekend.
Today is Oliver’s friend Garrett’s wedding.
And tomorrow, I’m returning to Los Angeles.
Returning to reality.
Oliver and I have spent the last few days acting like an actual married couple. We wake up together. Go to work. Eat dinner together. Lie out on his balcony together. Go to sleep together.
I’m waiting to get sick of it.
I thought Iwouldbe sick of it by now. But all I feel is disappointment, staring at the subtle indentation on the pillow next to mine and knowing I’ll only see it for one more morning. That I’ll soon be back in my bungalow, planning another renovation in an attempt to add some excitement to my life.
I climb out of bed and pad down the hall to Oliver’s office. The door is half-closed, so I push it open slowly.
Oliver is sitting at his desk, unsurprisingly. He glances up from a pile of papers as the hinge squeaks, his expression distracted. It settles into a smile when he sees me.
“Morning.” My voice is raspy from sleep.
“Morning. I tried not to wake you up. I have a call with Tokyo in three minutes.”
