Page 128 of Say Yes to the Death

“Why don’t you all go into the living room and have a seat for a few minutes?” Claire interjected.

Tanya led the charge, floating from the dining room to the living room. George and Jack followed. Luke did not.

Claire nearly dove into the kitchen, pouring glasses of wine. She hid behind her refrigerator so she didn’t have to make eye contact with Luke as she downed her glass in one gulp before refilling it. Press be damned, she wasn’t planning on leaving her house. This wine was warranted.

This dinner may have been her dumbest idea ever. What had possessed her to invite into her personal space her estranged father, her home-wrecking stepmother, and the man who had effectively killed her sort-of-boyfriend’s father?

Luke was still standing wordlessly at the dining room table. She put a glass of wine down for him and walked out without saying anything. It served him right. Didn’t it?

“Nice digs,” George said when she appeared in the living room. “A renter, I see. I’m sure your landlord appreciates you paying his mortgage.”

Awesome. George was a douche. She had suspected it the moment he walked in, but now red flags were falling out of the sky like a freakin’ ticker tape parade.

“I’m sure he does,” she agreed. “Almost as much as I appreciate being able to call him anytime something breaks.”

She handed a glass to him, and he took it, sniffing it. “Is this wine gluten-free?”

Oh, boy. He really was a Rachel.

“Are grapes gluten-free?” Claire said, unable to clip a hint of sarcasm from her voice.

George set his glass down and said nothing.

She passed glasses out to the remainder of the attendees. Fortunately, Tanya didn’t ask if the wine was vegan.

Claire quietly excused herself. She shut her bedroom door and picked up her pillow and screamed into it for a few seconds. Then she picked up the flask she had stashed on her nightstand in case of such an emergency and took a small swallow. Maybe she should pull out Taser #3 too.

Her bedroom door opened unexpectedly. She whirled around, whiskey dribbling out of the corner of her mouth.

Luke stepped inside and shut the door with a snap. Wordlessly, Claire handed him the flask and turned back around. She studied the sword hanging between her bedroom windows. For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to look Luke in the eyes.

The flask rattled. Luke sighed.

“You invited my brother,” he said, his first sentence since George had walked in.

“I did,” she began.

Luke cut her off midsentence.

“Why, Claire? You invited the asshole that I told you was responsible for ending my father’s life. For taking away my last chance to see him alive. To say goodbye. And you didn’t think I deserved a heads up.”

“I wanted to punish you,” she whispered to the sword. Her entire body tingled with shame. “I wanted you to hurt, like you hurt me.”

She turned to look at him.

“Well, you did a great fucking job.” Luke set the flask down on her dresser with a clunk.

She flinched.

“Listen, I get why you would want to hurt me. I did a shitty thing, and I’ve been trying to make up for it. I have never tried this hard in my life, do you understand that? I have bent over backward for you, sending pizza boys across the country and talking about my feelings and missing the shit out of you when you’re not in the same room with me. And every second of it has been worth it, because I hoped that at the end of this rough patch, you’d remember what we have and come back to me. But this,” he said, gesturing to the bedroom door. “Miss Happily-Ever-Afters and True Love. I had no idea you were capable of something like this. Honestly, after today, I feel like I don’t know you at all. How could you keep something like this from me?”

She reeled like he had slapped her. The bed creaked as she sprang to her feet.

“Oh, you mean like when you didn’t tell me you thought I was being targeted by a serial killer?” She pointed forcefully in his direction. “Or when you told me twice that you didn’t have a brother, but George was douching around this earth the whole time? Or when you covered up the fact that your entire documentary hinged on getting me to agree to an in-depth interview about the night I was almost murdered?”

Luke took a step back. “How long are you going to keep rehashing the past, Claire? I’ve apologized for all of that. I have fought for you. I’ve done everything I could conceivably think of to make this up to you. I even checked Google to see if professional apology planners were a thing. They aren’t, by the way. There might be a market for that. Anyway, if you can’t accept my apologies and my promise to do better—to be better—in the future, there’s nowhere to go from here. I can’t make you forgive me. I think I need to go. This was a mistake.” He put a hand on the doorknob.

Her heart launched itself into her throat.

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