Neither Elliot nor Elizabeth knows about another possibility: Anthony.
Still…
This isn’t his style. Or at least it wasn’t when I knew him. But he used Paige to get invited to the party. And for all I know, he may no longer think that women are off limits. After all, he promised to pay me back by hurting me the way I hurt him. And that means he’s going to have to hurt a woman who is close to me.
“Ryder.” Elizabeth reaches over and pats my hand. “Being suspicious and hurting the people who care about you and who you used to trust isn’t how Grandpa wanted us to be. He always saw the best in us. We should try to live up to that.”
I swallow the rest of my drink. My sister has a point of course. But Grandpa also wouldn’t have wanted me to be careless and get blindsided.
We drink some more, the silence heavy. Sometime during the night, the security team texts me that Paige has returned. I don’t get up. I still don’t know what to do about her.
Finally we finish—a bottle of scotch and half a bottle of Riesling killed between us—say goodbye, and I go upstairs to my suite. After changing for the night, I hesitate at the connecting door. I shouldn’t even want to go inside, not until I sort out my thoughts about the situation.
But I find myself slowly opening the door.
The night-light is on, and I see Paige’s body under the sheets. She’s curled up in a fetal position. The tip of her nose is red, and her face is tear-streaked. Her eyebrows are pinched as if she’s in pain, and I lean down to kiss her forehead even as I feel like the biggest piece of shit and don’t even know why. I’m still pissed off about the tape, and Mira’s words won’t leave my mind. But a part of me still wants to comfort Paige.
A knot twists in my chest. I crawl into bed and pull her closer. It’s only for a moment because my head is too messed up and despite everything I want to hold her. Damn it. What the hell is wrong with me?
Paige sighs softly in her sleep, turning toward me. As she buries her face in my chest and continues to sleep, I stare at nothing with my eyes open, hating the fact that the knot in my chest is easing with her in my arms.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Paige
When I open my eyes, I realize I’m not alone in my room. A heavy arm rests across my belly. I don’t have to turn to know that it’s Ryder. No other man can make my skin tingle or my awareness prickle.
But I’m not about to let my hormones dictate my feelings right now. What he said last night is still circling in my head. Just because he decided to spend the night in my bed doesn’t mean he’s changed how he feels. Maybe he thinks he misjudged the situation, but he should’ve never suspected me in the first place. He should’ve given me his trust.
I stay still for a moment, listening. He breathes heavily, his mouth slightly parted. He probably came in much later than I did. I slide off the bed carefully…and thankfully he keeps sleeping. I don’t want to face him and talk to him about what happened or how I feel right now. I’m still too upset, and it isn’t the kind of conversation I can have on less than six hours of sleep. Not when my eyes feel gritty and my head full of wet cotton.
I go to another suite to shower so I don’t wake Ryder. I would normally dress casually, but since I plan to go out later today, I choose my outfit with care. I put on a white satin blouse and a pale green skirt. A pair of cute strappy sandals and I look good enough to meet with Anthony. I still have his card, and I plan to talk with him about Lauren before he leaves L.A. Unless I understand what truly happened between the three of them, I’ll never understand why Ryder is behaving the way he is.
Why does it matter? The wedding’s probably off, the pessimistic side of me whispers, but I don’t care. I want an explanation. I deserve to know.
But first things first.
Breathing in deeply, I march to the guest house. I have to talk to Mom and Simon. There’s no way I can avoid them, and in any case, they deserve to hear the news from me.
Shame and anger burn in my belly, but I push them aside. My parents already know I’m ashamed—they know me too well not to. And I’m pretty sure Simon is flabbergasted. He’s a teacher after all, and will have to go to work knowing that his peers and students have undoubtedly seen the tape.
I ring the doorbell and wait. The housekeeper answers. Her expression is stoic, and no sympathy shows in her eyes. “Good morning. Your parents are in the kitchen.”
“Are they having breakfast?” The guest house has a formal dining room, but my parents will be more comfortable at the simple counter in the kitchen.
“Yes. Do you want me to let them know that you’re here?”