Chapter 3 - The Man Who Talked Too Much
I found one of the catering staff in the hallway and sent him off with a folded note, asking Gregory to meet me in the little reading room off the suite.
He was there in under two minutes, worry tugging at his eyes.
He kissed my forehead the way he always did. Slow. Careful.
"You're pale," he said. "Are you all right, love?"
"Who were you with last night, out by the parking lot?"
He blinked once, then smiled. "My cousin Vincent came by. Why? Did somebody see us and get spooked?"
"You don't have a cousin named Vincent on the guest list."
"He's a distant cousin. On my mother's side." He rubbed the back of his neck. "What's this about?"
I sat on the arm of the leather chair and kept my voice flat.
"Tell me about the settlement."
The color left his face in a way no story could put back.
"What settlement?"
"My father's. And the house in my name. And the word 'restructure.'"
He recovered fast. Too fast.
"Sweetheart, who told you that? Was it Dana?" His voice went soft, almost pitying. "She's been off for weeks. You've seen it too."
I didn't answer. I let him keep going, because men like Gregory always keep going.
"She's been alone for ten years," he said. "A whole decade with nobody. And now you're finally happy and all of a sudden she has concerns about me? Come on. Think about that."
And for a second, I did think about it. Dana had been quieter lately.
The story he was assembling had just enough shape to hold water. My throat went tight. I almost — almost — apologized to him.
Then he leaned in and put his hand over mine.
"She's been undermining this since the day I proposed. She's the reason your daughter had doubts too."
The room went very still.
I had never told Gregory that Hannah had doubts. I had never even said that word to him. Hannah and I had talked about it exactly once, over coffee, three months back, and I had repeated that conversation to one person.
Dana.
"How did you know Hannah had doubts?"
He hesitated. Just a beat. A beat was enough.
"You told me."
"I didn't. And Dana hasn't been alone with you since February. Seven months. So try again. And while you're at it — there's no cousin Vincent, is there?"
His jaw tightened. "You must have mentioned it. How else would I know?"
"That," I said quietly, "is exactly what I'd like to know. Have you been listening in on my phone calls?"
He straightened, and the softness he'd worn for two years slid right off his face. What was under it wasn't cruel, exactly. It was calculating and tired, like a man who'd hit a wall at a dead run.
"Please leave the room, Gregory."
"The guests are waiting," he said.
"I know."
"You'll embarrass us both. Do you have any idea what people are going to say? A woman your age, doing this a second time?" He sneered it.
I stood up slowly, gathering the loose lace against my hip.
"I know exactly what they'll say. And I know one more thing now, too. The only person who's told me the truth today is the one who wouldn't put on the dress."
May you like
I moved past him toward the door, my hand steady on the knob for the first time in twenty years.
He grabbed for my arm. I shrugged him off and walked out, still half laced, the ribbons trailing behind me like loose threads of a life I wasn't going to wear anymore.
