Page 119 of Casanova LLC

I’d been wrong.

The worst had been saved for last. Betrayal.

One word was all I had. I had come back for one word. Stay.

I opened my mouth to say it. But what came out was:

“He invited me there that night to seduce you.”

Her face didn’t move. Neither did her body. I don’t think she breathed. But I did. A breath gushed out of me as if I’d swum to this pier, underwater, the whole way from the lagoon. “That was the deal. He’d launch my career if I fucked you.” The ugliness of the truth matched the ugliness of my voice.

She didn’t say, “who” or “what” or “wait.” She didn’t say anything, so I kept going. Why stop now? “Your prenup. It stipulated that if you—like you don’t know what it stipulated—then you forfeited any right to…everything. So he wanted an infidelity in his back pocket should he ever want to leave you. I was the bait. The willing bait.”

Claire’s face went blank. Even the betrayal had left.

My hands lifted at my sides, as if they could nudge her into a reaction. “He researched me, Claire. Investigated me. Knew exactly who I was. What I was.” I could hear the self-loathing in my voice. “He never gave a shit about my work. And worse, he never gave a shit about you. We were a means to an end. Nothing more.”

Still silent.

I pushed on. “But when I…when I met you. When we talked. When we were together that night. At a certain point…I decided not to do it.”

Her brows lifted. “You decided not to do it.”

I couldn’t tell if that was an observation, a confirmation, or a question. So I said, “Exactly.”

“Not to do what? Exactly?”

“Close the deal.”

“Close the deal.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t close the deal.”

“Exactly.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I didn’t let you close the deal?”

That silenced me. The quiet between us stretched out like saltwater taffy.

She scoffed lightly and looked out at the canal. “The fact that either of you ever thought any of this was up to you is…is beyond hubris. I was tempted, how could I not have been? In the moment. But I was never going to cheat on him.”

“I know. I saw that, that you would never dishonor him like?—”

“Me.” She stabbed a finger against her chest. “Not him, me. I would never dishonor myself like that. Even for you.”

That was meant to hurt me. And it did. Struck me deeper than she probably intended. Her voice was intense, but not loud. Composed. Thursday’s Claire. She’d gone all the way back to the self-protective woman who’d stood on her balcony.

She still wouldn’t look at me. “I may have been fooled, but you were played. Giving him your paintings beforehand? Rookie mistake. I’m assuming you tried to get them back?”

“Yes. I badgered him for over a year. Until his lawyers sent me a cease and desist. He snaked me.”

It came out on a scoff: “He snaked you. You don’t sell your soul to the devil then quibble about the fine print.” She shook her head. “No wonder you stopped painting.”

“It wasn’t because of him.” My hand went to my heart, the most insipid but genuine of gestures. It didn’t matter if she saw it or not. “It was because of you. The guilt. The shame. The self-loathing. That I was willing to betray you for?—”

“How pretty. How convenient. Too bad I don’t believe you. You didn’t know me.” She finally looked at me. “This isn’t about my character, it’s about yours. You were willing to betray yourself. Don’t you dare make this about me.”

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