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CHAPTER THIRTY
PAST
On the flight home, the hostess congratulated us on our marriage.
“A glass of champagne for you, Mrs. Hawthorpe?” she asked.
I flinched. I was not Mrs. Hawthorpe. And then I realized that in the eyes of the world, I was.
“No, thank you,” I said stiffly.
I pretended to sleep during the flight so that I wouldn’t have to talk. When we touched down in Farnborough, Hunter was there to meet us.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Hawthorpe,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “On your marriage.”
I frowned, confused by his unfriendliness, until the enormity of what I’d done hit me. How could I have forgotten about Hunter, about the drink we were going to have together? My stomach churned. I wanted to grab his hand, tell him that my marriage to Ned wasn’t real, that it was just an agreement. But Ned placed a hand firmly on my back and pushed me toward the open car door.
As I got into the car, I tried to catch Hunter’s eye. But without looking at me, he handed Ned a newspaper, open to one of the inside pages. Ned glanced at it and then showed me, and I saw the photographof me and Ned outside the chapel, and the captionHawthorpe Heir’s Secret Wedding.
Ned smiled. “Perfect,” he said as Hunter slammed my door shut.
Ned got into the back of the car next to me.
“Straight home, please,” he said, and my heart fluttered. I was sure we’d be going to my apartment first to pick up my clothes and I’d planned to lock the door and refuse to come out.
“Can we go to my apartment to pick up the things that I’ll need?” I asked.
“Hunter already has them, they’re waiting for you at the house,” Ned said.
My stomach knotted. Again, I tried to catch Hunter’s eye, this time in the rearview mirror, but his attention was on the road ahead.
“How did you get my key?” I asked.
But they both ignored me.
Ned’s phone rang. He cursed under his breath and let it ring out. It rang again immediately. I glanced at the screen and sawDad. With another curse, Ned answered it.
Jethro Hawthorpe’s voice was so loud and angry that I could hear every word he was saying. Realizing, Ned turned away from me. But it didn’t make any difference.
What the hell do you think you’re doing?
“I’m in the car,” Ned said tersely. “I’ll call you when I get home.”
I’m coming over to the house.
“No, don’t come over, I said I’ll—”
Jethro Hawthorpe had cut the call.
Ned’s phone rang again, and again, and again, and again. Eventually, he snatched it up.
“Stop phoning me, alright?” he said angrily, and I was shocked that he would speak to his father like that. “I mean it, Lina,” he added, before cutting the call.
My heart sank. If I’d known it was Lina, I would have grabbed the phone from him, asked her how Justine was. Except I wasn’t meant toknow what Ned had done. I glanced at Hunter—did he know? That must have been why Lina was calling, why Ned hadn’t wanted to take her call.
Thirty minutes later, we arrived at the house in Wentworth. Hunter dropped us at the door, then drove the car around the side of the house. I walked up three wide steps to the black front door and waited while Ned punched a code into a panel on the right. There was a click, and the heavy door swung open.
I followed Ned into a marbled entrance hall. In front was a vast staircase with a hallway on either side, one to the right and one to the left.
