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Violet’s eyes wander to the baby grand. “Yeah. She did the music for our plays when I was in middle school.”
“Do you play?”
“Nope.” Violet’s mood is souring quickly with talk of her mother.
Henry’s phone chirps and he reaches for it without hesitation. I’ve gotten used to this—his tether to his company—but I reach out beneath the table with my foot to nudge his shin. A silent plea for him to ignore it.
“It’s important. Just a sec,” he murmurs, his focus already on the screen.
As important as getting to know your daughter?
“So, when is this play?” I ask.
“Beginning of December.”
“That’s only a few weeks away. Are there tickets left?”
“Uh … I don’t know. Why?” Violet stammers.
“Because we want to come. Right, Henry?”
He’s scowling at his phone.
I nudge him under the table with my toe again. “Violet’s play is in a few weeks. We’ll go and see it, right?”
“Right, yeah,” he says, but he’s distracted. A curse slips from his lips. “Abbi, you and I need to talk.”
The hairs on my neck prickle from his suddenly serious tone.
My phone rings then, and Mama’s name shows up on the display.
“Don’t answer that,” he barks, spiking my anxiety.
“What is going on, Henry?”
Smoothing his palm over his mouth, he hands me his phone.
I read the headline, and my stomach drops.
CHAPTER18
“How did they get these!” I scroll through the myriad of pictures from Wolf Cove, printed in the front-page tabloid article that’s now gracing magazine racks all over the country. And here I was, wondering why I hadn’t heard from Luca/Frank/Hank/Satan in weeks. It’s because he was pulling together this story.
These are stills of security camera recordings, and there aremany, all the way back to the very beginning, the night a bearded Henry carried my drunk ass back to my cabin.
There’s a snapshot of Henry towering over me in the lodge’s main hall the day he scolded me for showing my jealousy as Rachel served him drinks, and one of Henry with his hand settled on the small of my back while we’re walking along the path—he was always so careful about touching me outside the cabin.
They aren’t all security photos, though. There’s one from the grand opening Saturday night, with me in my fabulous dress, standing morose in the background while Henry ignored me all night. Just below it is a still of me in Michael’s arms that same night, and then one of him leading me into his cabin.
And another of me ducking out of the cabin in Michael’s clothes the next morning.
More security pictures in the following weeks, after our ugly breakup and Henry’s departure, show my relationships with Ronan and Connor unfold—the hugs and friendly leans against each other by the lake. It’s all innocent enough, and yet it paints a totally different picture when paired with theWolf Hotel Billionaire’sInnocent Farm Girl Not So Innocentheadline.
My eyes burn with the threat of angry tears as I graze over the first paragraph again.
Owner of artisanal Farm Girl Soap Co. start-up and assistant to Wolf Hotels billionaire Henry Wolf has had a busy summer, snagging the interest of her rich boss (despite the corporate policy against fraternization). But when the boss was away making those big bucks, the assistant played, falling into the arms and beds of several coworkers, including Wolf’s personal masseuse and several hotel grounds workers. The question is, will Henry Wolf go through with the wedding now that we’ve uncovered his bride-to-be’s dark secrets?
“Who even wrote this trash?” I mutter, more to myself. There aren’t any blatant claims of my infidelity. Just a lot of choice words that make me look like a gold-digging whore and Henry look like a clueless sucker.
