He nuzzled his face against my hair and I shivered with an unwelcome tingle from head to toe. I sighed into him. How could I not? This was what I wanted—to be held by him, to be loved by him.

But this was fake. It had to be or he’d tell me what I needed to know. Right?

Either way, Mira bought it. She clapped her hands together. “Ah, see? The happy and glowing is back! Thank god.” She cast her eyes around the room, stopping first at her mother beside her, then Adam and Chandler and Jack on the sofa, then to me and Hudson in front of her. “This is the best. Now my whole family’s here.”

I shifted, feeling a little uncomfortable at her declaration. I wasn’t family. And at the moment, I was sure I never would be. The farce was going too far. I opened my mouth to protest.

Sophia beat me to it. “Well, not everyone here is family.”

Mira glared at her mother. “She is. And right now I’d send you out before Laynie. Since I want all my family here, you can sit over there with your mouth shut and pretend you’re shaking because you’re cold and when you get home you can have the drink you wish was in that water bottle.”

All eyes darted from Mira to Sophia to me. The tension was so thick and palpable. I felt I had to say something. “I should go, Mira. The sentiment is nice, but I’m not really family.”

Jack met my eyes. “Yes. You are.”

Hudson tightened his grasp around me. “Agreed.”

I nodded, not daring to speak. My throat was thick and my eyes filled with tears. At least when Mira looked at me, she thought I was crying out of happiness. She had no idea she was watching my heart break even more.

Chapter Fifteen

Mira was released shortly after seven a.m. under strict orders to take it easy and drink more water. We all walked out together, Adam and Jack fussing over Mira as an attendant wheeled her to the front door. While I’d both hoped and feared that Hudson would drive me home himself, Jordan was waiting as we exited the main doors. Hudson must have texted him while I wasn’t watching.

The others had to wait for the valet to bring their cars up, so I was the first to say goodbye. I bent to hug Mira. “Take care of yourself, sister. I don’t want to be back at Lenox Hill until you’re pushing out a baby—and that better be months from now.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Thanks for coming, Laynie.”

“Anytime.” I straightened. “Well, my ride’s here.” After all the talk of being part of the family, leaving by myself felt extra lonely. My mixed feelings were no longer mixed—I wanted Hudson to drive me home. Desperately.

“Your ride…?” Mira looked from me to Hudson, obviously questioning the different cars.

“We’re off to separate places,” Hudson said. “Alayna gets to go home and crawl in bed. I’m off to work.” Always prepared with an answer, he was. Except when I was asking the questions.

Mira scowled. “You’re going to work after no sleep? And I’m the one getting yelled at about working too hard.”

Hudson waved his hand dismissively. “I got enough sleep.” He walked me to the Maybach, opening the back door for me. “I should kiss you goodbye,” he said quietly so that only I could hear.

“I suppose you should. Do you want to?” I held my breath, afraid of the answer. I didn’t know the answer for myself. It was like what he said in the hospital waiting room—kissing him only reminded me how I wanted to kiss him more. And knowing that I wouldn’t kiss him more anytime soon felt like razorblades to my chest.

His response only heightened my pain. “I’ve never kissed you just for show, precious. I’m not about to start now.” But his actions said differently when he bent in to deliver a partially open-mouthed kiss, no tongue. The type of affection suitable for onlookers.

Without permission, my hand flew to the back of his neck. I held him there, locking our lips for much longer than I believe he’d intended. When I finally pulled away, I made sure I had the last word. “That would be easier to believe if your actions matched your words. But, let me guess—you’re not about to start that now either, are you?”

I slipped in the car and slammed the door before he could respond.

* * *

After five hours of restless sleep, I woke up with another throbbing headache, swollen eyes, and a plan.

I made two phone calls, right off the bat. One of them was productive, earning me an appointment for the next day with someone who, hopefully, could shed some light on Hudson’s recent behavior.

The other call got me nowhere. Mirabelle didn’t go into work, of course, so it was Stacy that answered when I called the shop. That was fine. She was whom I wanted to talk to anyway. But even though I pleaded and put on my sweetest voice, she refused to talk any more about the video she’d sent.

“I told you, I’m done,” she said and hung up.

I bounced my knee as I thought about what to do next. Then I made one more call. “Can you come over for a bit? I need your help with something.”

“Um, sure.” Liesl sounded groggy, as if I’d woken her up. It was just after one p.m. I probably had woken her. “I need, like, twenty. And coffee.”

“Awesome. I’ll send my driver to get you. With Starbucks.”

I got off the phone, showered and dressed in record speed, and then dove into my project. Projects, I’d learned in therapy, even ridiculously unnecessary ones, were excellent forms of distraction. They helped keep me from doing the crazy things I tended to do when I was hurting. It was possible that this project in particular was as crazy as the things it kept me from doing, but I was ignoring that.

More than an hour later, Liesl and I sat on the floor of the library surrounded by books—the books that Hudson had ordered for me through Celia. While most of them hadn’t been marked at all, we were pulling those that were. They were easy to find. All of them were bookmarked by Celia Werner’s business card. I planned on burning the pile when we were finished.

“Here’s another one.” Liesl read the highlighted quote. “‘Don’t cry, I’m sorry to have deceived you so much, but that’s how life is.’ It’s from Lolita.”

I cringed. Nabokov. One of my favorites. “Put it in the to-go pile.” On the notepad next to me I scribbled down the quote.

She stacked it with the others that had been highlighted—the books I planned to get rid of. “What do you think it means?”

I shook my head and looked over the list in my lap. There were several from my favorite books and some from books I’d never read:

“People could put up with being bitten by a wolf but what properly riled them was a bite from a sheep.” — James Joyce, Ulysses

“He who controls the past controls the future. He who controls the present controls the past.” — George Orwell, 1984

“Blameless people are always the most exasperating.” — George Eliot, Middlemarch

“Once a bitch always a bitch, what I say.” — William Faulkner, The Sound and the Fury

“There ain’t no sin and there ain’t no virtue. There’s just stuff people do.” — John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

“It’s not my fate to give up—I know it can’t be.” — Henry James, The Portrait of a Lady

“There is no harm in deceiving society as long as she does not find you out.” — E.M. Forster, A Passage to India

There was another page, much of the same. If there was a hidden message, I couldn’t find it. “I’m beginning to think none of them mean anything. They’re simply ominous quotations intended to mess with my mind.”

Liesl snatched the list from me. She scanned it quickly. “I think she’s talking about herself. She doesn’t think she’s harming anyone, she’s not going to give up, she thinks she controls stuff, and she’s a bitch.” She tossed the notepad to the ground and reached for another book. “So spill it. Why did you so badly want me here for this only mildly entertaining task?”

I twisted my lips. “I didn’t. There’s something else.” With a deep breath, I spilled the plan that had occupied my mind since waking.

When I was finished, Liesl sat back against the couch, her forehead pinched. “So let me get this straight—you’re going to obsess and stalk people on purpose?”

“Research,” I corrected. “Research, dammit! Not stalk.” Though the idea sounded much better in my head than when I said it out loud.

“You’re obsessed with your boy toy’s past. And you want to track down people to research whatever he’s hiding from you. Right? Or did I miss something?”

“That’s exactly it.” I nodded more enthusiastically than necessary. “That’s not stalking. That’s talking to people. People who have insight into Hudson. If he won’t tell me what I want to know, then I can ask them. Get a clearer picture.”

Liesl shot me a disapproving glance.

“Why is this not an ideal plan?” I’d hoped she’d be more supportive. Especially since parts of the idea were already in action.

“Because you have a history of being, you know...” She clicked her tongue and circled a finger in the air next to her head, the universal sign for psycho. “I’ll just say it. Cuckoo. You’ve been cuckoo. And I haven’t been to that many of your group thingies, but I seem to remember that snooping and prying and digging into people’s stuff are all on the no-no list.”

I shut my eyes so I wouldn’t be tempted to roll them. Liesl had been to a few of my meetings. I hadn’t realized she’d actually paid attention. “This is different.”

She nodded. “Yes, it is.” Then she stopped nodding and raised a brow. “How exactly?”