He knew better than to rile her, provide her with ammunition. He’d expected Rebecca to launch a few verbal missiles as soon as he picked her up from the hairdresser’s, but she’d been quiet during the drive back to her dad’s house.
Too quiet.
He had an idea what was going on. She didn’t want witnesses.
There are already enough people on this island who know what you’re really like, aren’t there? And you don’t want word getting back to your dad. Because that would really mess things up for you, wouldn’t it?
He took a left into the driveway and pulled up in front of the door. Her dad’s car wasn’t sitting in front of the double garage—he never put it away until nighttime—and that knowledge sent a shiver through Sam.
No one’s home.
No audience.
Shit.
Rebecca was out of the car before he’d killed the engine, striding toward the door, leaving Sam with the scent of salon chemicals and her heavy perfume. Her heels clicked on the tiled path that led to the doorstep, sharp and deliberate, a metronome of her mounting anger.
Here we go again.
He closed the door behind him, while Rebecca called out for her dad, her voice cheerful and light. When no response came, she turned to glare at him.
“Thirty minutes I sat there, waiting for you. Thirty.” Her tone was calm, but the way she dug her fingers into the soft leather of her handbag told him she was barely holding it together.
Sam swallowed, his throat tight. “I apologized. I was in Freshwater when you called. I got there as fast as I could.”
Her eyes blazed. “Do you know how humiliating that was? Sitting there like some abandoned pet while everyone looked at me?”
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.” Sam kept his hands at his sides. “Rebecca, I?—”
“Shut up.” Her voice was a whip crack, and Sam flinched. “I suppose I should be grateful you called me Rebecca and not Becky.” She grimaced.
“That’s what your dad calls you, isn’t it?”
That earned him another glare. “Only because I can’t do much about that. I couldn’t tell him to quit saying it.You, however, are a different matter.” She narrowed her gaze, her lips curling into a sneer. “You shouldn’t have driven all the way to the other side of the island, not when you knew I expected you to pick me up. You do this all the time, Sam. Anyone would think I’m not worth your effort. Like I’m some obligation you have to put up with.”
The irony burned, but he bit his tongue.
I can’t tell her she’s right.
She stepped even closer, and Sam could see the flecks of gold in her dark eyes, the way her pupils shrank when she was angry. “Are you cheating on me?”
For a moment the accusation threw him. “What? No.”
Her nails dug into Sam’s arm before he could move away. “Then what were you doing? Hmm? Who was more important than me?”
Not again.
Sam knew he could tell her the truth until the cows came home, and she’d still think he was lying. That was her nature. An adept liar herself, she saw the same trait in everyone around her. And since her little discovery, every minute felt as though she was waiting for him to slip up.
“I just needed some air, okay?”
She blinked. “Air. And you had to drive to Freshwater to find it? When a walk down Union Street brings you to the sea?” Her grip tightened. “You aresobad at this, you know. Lying. Pretending.” Her lips curved into something too sharp to be a smile. “But I guess that’s your whole thing, isn’t it?”
Sam’s stomach roiled. “Rebecca?—”
She leaned in, her breath warm against his cheek. “I could tell your dad anytime I want. You know that, right?”
Sam’s legs felt unsteady, as though the floor was shifting beneath him. His father’s face flashed through his mind, and that was enough to bring bile to his throat.
