“Hannah.”
“I deserved to know that she was your ex-girlfriend.”
“And I deserved a chance to explain before you simply moved out, but here we are,” he said, his tone turning icy. “What good would’ve come from you knowing about Madison? You never would’ve let her help you through PT. Every family event would’ve been completely awkward. We still would’ve been forced to be around them.”
“Exactly!” she exclaimed, her hands flying frantically above her. “I wouldn’t be friends with someone who is in love with my husband. With someone who has the gall to declare that love despite the ridiculous triangle—square—or whatever we’re all in now.”
A hint of a smile played on Will’s face despite the circumstances. “I promise you there’s no square.” She watched him battle with his own memories and frustrations before he looked her directly in the eyes. “I love you.”
His words were slowly snaking their way into her, but she wasn’t ready to acquiesce. She couldn’t. “Then you should’ve told me.”
“I know that.”
She stepped closer to him, still maintaining a safe distance from any chance contact. “Tell me now.”
He stared at her for too long and then took a breath. “I dated Madison for three years before everything happened. And when I found out about Jon, things got complicated...” Will paused, and it felt like a hole had been punched through her.
“Complicated how?”
He palmed his face before looking up at her resignedly. “She used to call me for sex. It only happened once. Right after everything happened with her and Jon. Months before I proposed to you.”
Hannah sat down on the couch, afraid her feet wouldn’t support her as a fresh onslaught of tears spilled down her cheeks. “Did you use me to get her out of your system? To get revenge on them? Was that what this whole pact was about?”
“No. It was never about revenge or cleansing. You know... I’ve made it more than clear how I feel about you, how I’ve always felt about you.”
“Then why?” She couldn’t keep the whine out of her voice. If he’d just told her, they wouldn’t be here. They’d be happy and in New York. They’d be together.
“The last nine months of my life have been hell. You are the only bright spot in all of it. My girlfriend cheated on me with my brother for a year. I’ve had to support them through all these wedding events, put a smile on my face, and laugh at stupid jokes his friends make. Jon asked me to give a speech—a fucking wedding speech—to smooth things over.” He closed his eyes, a pained expression coming over him. “You were the one person in my life who didn’t look at me with complete pity. I couldn’t lose that.”
Her pain at Will’s betrayal was mirrored in his eyes but a thousand times worse. She reached across the table and wrapped a hand around his. Warmth seeped through. It would be so easy to let this pass, but they needed to work through it, not around it. She had to know the truth. “Do you still love her?”
“No.” He walked around the table and came to sit next to her. Her senses awakened at his closeness, and she breathed in his scent as he wiped a tear off her cheek. “If you believe anything I said, believe that nothing is going on with Madison, and I don’t want there to be. You are my future. I love you, Hannah.”
The memory of who Will Thorne had been to her—the last boy she’d truly trusted—was tarnished. Trust was why she’d agreed to marry him—her perfect boy. But the man standing in front of her wasn’t perfect. He was flawed and broken, and she had fallen in love with him, wholly. She couldn’t walk away from him any more than she could go back to being just friends. “I love you too.”
Chapter 45Will
Tell me about Madison. It had been a simple request, but Will hadn’t expected it. He wasn’t sure how detailing his history with Madison was going to help either party, but if she wanted to know, he’d tell her everything. Had they been deeply in love? Yes. Had he planned to marry her? Yes. Did he know she was still harboring feelings for him? Hell no.
Hannah had peppered him with questions throughout the morning. Over a perfectly enjoyable cuddle session, she’d asked how they’d met—at a townie party in the Hamptons over MLK Jr. weekend. During an episode of Scrubs, she’d inquired about the state of their relationship when things started with Jon—totally and perfectly normal. They’d just gotten back from a ten-day trip to Wellington Thorne’s newest island resort. Ten minutes ago, she’d wanted to know if Madison had ever explained why Jon happened in the first place. He could only guess at this, but something always told him it had to do with Madison’s thirtieth birthday and the lack of an engagement ring on her finger. Though how exactly an affair was supposed to help with that problem, he couldn’t say.
He stretched his arm across the back of the couch. The unease he’d first felt over returning to the apartment dissipated the longer he was there with Hannah. Madison no longer hid in every corner. A story didn’t unfold from simple objects. Still, it would never be solely his, and he would be happy to give it up at the end of his lease. Despite her admiration of the apartment, he could tell Hannah didn’t love being here either, particularly after the way she’d eyed the bed last night as if she wished to set it on fire.
Hannah rested her head against his shoulder—perhaps that meant no more questions. He relaxed for the moment. They were almost through Garden State, a movie Will hadn’t watched in nearly a decade and that Hannah swore by. Somehow that didn’t surprise him. On-screen, Zach Braff, Natalie Portman, and Peter Sarsgaard stared down a landfill and lamented the poor guy who had to argue for the right to destroy a natural phenomenon.
That had literally been his job for years. Fighting for the right to build hotels wherever they wanted. Reading the reports, advising on the costs, ignoring the hole the job was ripping through his soul every time he read about relocating the flora and fauna. But not anymore.
“I quit Wellington Thorne yesterday.”
She bolted upright, her eyes panicked. “You can’t.”
“It’s done.” The words terrified him. But for the first time in his life, he felt the chain that bound him to the Thorne name and all that came with it loosening, breaking. He could be free with a few more strategic tugs on that poor, deteriorating connection. The thought sent a spike of panic through him, as it had yesterday in Grayson’s office when his uncle had looked at him squarely and asked if he knew what he was doing.
“What will do you now?” Hannah asked, surprise and concern mixing in her voice.
He took her hand in his and met her gaze. “Kiss you.”
“Will,” she said, staving off his advances and scooting to the far end of the couch.
He laughed. “I’m still William Thorne, one of the best corporate environmental lawyers in New York, Wellington Thorne or no Wellington Thorne. I’ll make some calls. With any luck, I’ll soon be on the partner track at a small firm, still practicing corporate environmental law.”
Hannah nodded as if that sounded exactly right. He loved that she knew it did.
“I have some news, too, actually,” she said, a tentative smile on her face. “We got an exclusive for the inaugural issue.”
Will didn’t even have to go through the list of Boston-based artists. There was only one who would have Hannah unnerved, but he would play along because this was her moment. “Really? Who?”
“I’m interviewing Leonard Nulty next week,” she said, a giant smile brightening her features. “When I think about it, I can’t even breathe.”
His wife had arrived. Editor in chief of Deafening Silence Boston and an exclusive with the illusive Leonard Nulty himself. “Congratulations.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t really do anything.”
“But you will.” He squeezed one of the feet resting in his lap, the only part of her he could easily reach. “Maybe I should make some calls to firms in Boston?”
It was a Hail Mary. They were barely over their argument and in no place to talk about big moves. Without the legally binding marriage between them, Hannah might not have come back, Rule 5 be damned. It tethered them to this relationship as much as their feelings did. But if she’d have him, he wanted her to know he was all in.
