Every Last Secret(51)

She shrugged. “I think I’ll get a matching stone and have earrings made.”

Said in the casual and annoying way of a woman with more diamonds than she knew what to do with. Jealousy twisted my gut, and I fought the urge to hide my own ring. It was barely two carats, a size I used to be joyous over—but it was starting to feel smaller and smaller with time.

“It’s beautiful.” I stared at the stone and tried to see the positive—every time I saw it, I could remember what prompted it. His guilt over sex with me. It was a mini trophy in the battle between us. I just couldn’t tell if it had my name on it or hers. Should I be feeling triumphant or defeated?

“He proposed to me when he gave it to me. Asked me if I’d marry him all over again.” She blinked, and I was surprised to see tears beginning to mat the lashes underneath her eyes.

I yanked a napkin off the top of the stack and offered it to her. “Here.” He asked her to marry him? That was a bad sign. I thought quickly, trying to understand his current mindset.

“And I wanted to thank you.” She grabbed my forearm and squeezed it, the action awkward, considering I still held the sex-toy box. “I don’t know what you said to him, but he says he’s ready to adopt.”

“Really?” My heart fell. Maybe she was lying. After what William and I had just done, there was no way he was talking to her about children. Nausea swelled at the thought of her scooping up a running toddler, his face filled with pride.

He’d be a great dad. Hands-on. Loving. Lots of fun. The kids would go to him for anything they wanted, and he’d let them have it all. They’d never know the slur of his voice when he ridiculed them, or the weight of his body, throwing them against a wall.

That wasn’t how that conversation had been meant to go. When I’d brought up adoption last week, it was with the intent of pointing out Cat’s infertility, planting an image in his head of an alternate future he could have with me—carrying his own baby. A true Winthorpe, not some trashy woman’s rejected infant.

Cat sighed. “I have to admit, you’ve done an amazing job—with the team and with him.”

Something wasn’t right about this. Cat was too warm, too accepting, and I didn’t like the sudden jump in support of my work. She’d all but laughed over my job before, and now she was gushing? Was this all because of the ring? Or was it the new possibility of having a family?

Her arms crushed around me, and I added another likelihood—she was drunk. She pulled away, and I felt unsteady, too many factors suddenly added to this game.

“Anyway . . .” Cat dabbed at her bottom line of lashes and gestured to the vibrator. “I really love mine, and I thought you’d like one, too. You know.” She smirked. “For when Matt is out of town.”

“Oh.” I looked back down at it. “Thank you.”

She studied me for a minute, her beautiful features pinching. “Oh God. I weirded you out, didn’t I? I’m sorry.”

I stopped her. “You didn’t weird me out. Honestly. It’s a great gift. It’s just . . .” I shrugged, grateful for the change in subject. “Thank you.” For this trashy, cheap sex toy.

“Oh, it was nothing.” She pushed off the stool with a big smile. “Now, sit down and let me fix you a drink. We’ve got four hours of time to kill, and I’ve got the juiciest gossip about one of the security guards at the north gate.”

I glanced at the men and opened our junk drawer, slipping the vibrator in among the scissors, pens, and Scotch tape. Following her deeper into the kitchen, I watched as she opened up cabinets and got to work with our drinks. When she dropped the queen-bee act, there were times when she was almost likable.

She reached for a bottle of vodka, and I straightened.

“Oh, wait—I have something chilling for you.” Crouching down, I opened the wine cooler and pulled out the bottle of limoncello that I had purchased for her. I twisted the cap. “I already opened it—had to try a little last night to see what the fuss was all about.” She’d gone on and on at dinner one night about a limoncello vintage that was—in her words—to die for. Both Matt and William had expressed dislike over the lemon liqueur, which I’d never had.

“Wow! I can’t believe you found this.” She swooped forward, picking up the rare edition, which I had spent hours tracking down. I’d ended up ordering it from Italy, the shipping price more than triple what the bottle had cost. “Did you love it?”

“I have to side with Matt and William on this one. It was too sour for me. So—” I gestured to it. “Please, drink up. It’s all for you.”

“Thank you so much.” She beamed, then squeezed me in another hug, and I almost felt guilty for what I was doing. Almost.



Two hours later, the game paused for halftime, and we took the opportunity to sit outside. It was pleasant, looking over the lit pool, the twinkle lights on, our firepit crackling. Though he had done it slowly and complained about his ribs and arm the entire time, Matt had actually gotten off his butt and helped out. With the recent injury, he’d grown more needy, as if his good arm were as useless as his bad. Still, his injury had an upside—his inabilities had given me several opportunities to ask William to come over and fix things or lift heavy items. And while my husband had many shortcomings, ignorance was still one of his strengths.