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I flip through the pages, curious if that might help me identify the writer. I’m trying not to get ahead of myself by speculating about the relationship between Lisa and Harper, but the knot growing in my chest makes that difficult. I just can’t shake the feeling that Lisa’s association with Harper somehow involves these books, and after what happened to Jason, that scares me.
Does Lisa somehow help Harper with her books? Does she know Harper was writing about her actual relationships and that a good man had his heart broken because of it? That doesn’t sound like my Lisa. There has to be some other explanation. Lisa wouldn’t be involved in the romances. She wants to write kids’ books for God’s sake.
When she gets home, I’ll tell her about Harper and give her the envelope. She’ll tell me how they know each other, I’ll tell her how I know Harper, we’ll laugh about the whole thing, and then everything will be perfect, just like it was before she left this morning. There’s no way Harper is going to ruin the best thing that ever happened to me.
Chapter 26
Lisa
I walk in the door to find Chris lying on the couch, book in hand. He peers over the top warily as I move to join him, and my stomach does a little flip. What is that look for?
“What are you reading?” I ask as he swings his legs to the side to make room for me.
“Just a book I found in your office,” he replies evenly.
Odd, I thought he’d be happier to see me. I’m just about to lean in to kiss him when he tosses the book on the coffee table and I see the cover. My stomach has never dropped so far so fast.
“Like it?” I manage to squeak.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On who wrote it.”
There it is. He knows. How the hell did he find out before I could tell him? I’ve never seen him look so serious. I want to rewind time, to go back to this morning when everything was perfect and I was sure we were going to be together forever, because right now, the way he’s looking at me, I’m not sure there’s even a today, let alone a forever.
“I don’t understand,” I stutter. My heart is beating so hard, so fast, I’m sure Chris can hear it.
“Your friend Harper stopped by today,” he says evenly, as if it takes all his strength to stay calm. “She dropped that off for you.” He nods towards an envelope on the coffee table.
“Harper?” I say, keenly aware of the way Chris’s gaze is boring into me, looking for some type of reaction. Some tell.
“Yes, Harper. Turns out your friend Harper is also my friend Harper. Well, former friend, really. We had a bit of a falling out.” He fists his hands in his lap, gripping them so tight the color starts to drain away.
“Why?” I whisper.
“She dated Jason, my attorney, for years. We all thought they’d get married, actually, but then she betrayed him. They broke up. Jason was heartbroken.” He loosens his grip momentarily and flexes his hands, just long enough for the blood to seep back in.
“What does that mean, she betrayed him?”
“That part I never knew. Until today.” He studies me. “She wrote about him, about their private life, in a romance novel.”
“That doesn’t sound like Harper. She…”
“She called you her favorite writer,” he interrupts calmly. Eerily calm. “Did you help her with the book that almost broke Jason? Please tell me you didn’t.” He starts to reach for me then abruptly drops his hands at his sides.
“I didn’t. I don’t know anything about any books that Harper has written.” I stare into his eyes, hoping he can see the truth in mine.
“She would have used a pen name. Maybe you didn’t even realize it.”
I glance at the book on the coffee table, and understanding washes over me. I never really understood that term before, but it makes perfect sense now. The wave brings me momentary relief, knowing that the truth will absolve me of guilt for what happened to Jason in Chris’s eyes. But it could wash everything else away with it. Even Chris.
“You think that’s Harper’s book,” I say.
“Isn’t it?” he asks. “Why else would you have so many untouched books by this author in your cupboard? You told me before you worked for a Harper. It makes sense you would have her books, only you wouldn’t need to read them if you’d seen them before they were published. She probably gave them to you as a thank-you.”
I can see how much he wants to believe that. To believe that I’d simply done a job. It hadn’t crossed his mind that I’m the author, and based on the look in his eyes right now, I’m pretty sure he might find that worse.
