Page 115 of Mistaken Impression

“I’ll manage,” I muttered to myself, as I wiped away my tears and tried to focus on the road. I needed to be somewhere I could feel safe, and preferably with as few reminders of Mac as possible.

Pat was surprised to see me, but didn’t comment on my red-rimmed, puffy eyes. She didn’t ask any question at all… not even when I refused to join in Thanksgiving with her and Mick. I’m grateful for that, and I’ve buried myself in my apartment, ignoring the phone calls Kennedy made every day last week, and the text messages she’s been sending twice a day since.

I’ve been ignoring everyone else, too… until now.

My apartment might be separate from the rest of the house, but I can easily imagine Pat and Hunter talking… and Pat telling my big brother about my sudden, tearful arrival. I know it won’t be long before he knocks on my door, but even then I jump out of my skin when I hear the sharp tapping sound.

There’s no point in trying to ignore him; he knows I’m in here. Pat will have told him I haven’t moved from my apartment since I arrived.

I get up and wander to the door, opening it.

He stares down at me, his head tipped to one side, his eyes filled with pity.

“Where’s Livia?” I ask, knowing I’ll cry the moment he says anything.

“She’s in the kitchen with Pat.” He steps into the room, not giving me any choice in the matter, and closes the door behind him, before he turns around to face me again. “Why didn’t you tell me you were here? When I spoke to you beforeThanksgiving, I assumed you were still in Boston with your boyfriend. I had…”

I burst into tears, much as I expected, and Hunter reaches out and pulls me into his arms.

“Hey, Sis… it’s okay.”

I shake my head, even though he’s holding it against his chest. It isn’t okay. Why can’t he see that?

He holds me, letting me cry for a while, until eventually the tears subside. I think I’m running dry. For the first few days, I cried and cried and cried, but now ten minutes is about the most I can manage at a time. It’s like I’m on a ration of tears, and that’s my limit.

I pull back slightly and Hunter lets me go. “Is this something to do with Blain?”

“Yes, but that’s not his real name. That’s just the name they gave him for the show. His real name is Mac, or Blake.” He stares at me, confused. “It’s Blake Mackenzie, but everyone calls him Mac.”

“I see,” he says. “And did you break up?”

I nod my head, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “H—He accused me of betraying him.”

Hunter frowns, his eyes darkening. “He accused you of cheating?”

“No. This was about work, not about… us.”

It seems odd saying ‘us’ when there isn’t one anymore.

“How did he think you’d betrayed him at work?”

“Someone at the studio told the press he can’t cook.”

His frown deepens. “He can’t cook?”

“No.”

“Then why is he presenting a cookery show?”

“The studio argued he didn’t need to be able to cook… just to present. I was there to handle the cookery side of things, and to show him what to do and how to do it.”

“Well… you did a good job. I’d never have guessed the guy couldn’t cook.”

“That was the plan. It made things really complicated to start off with, but we worked it out, and according to the producer, the ratings were going well. They were going so well, the network had commissioned a second season.”

“In which case, why would someone at the studio tell the press that the star of their show was a fraud?”

I suck in a breath. “I don’t know. Whoever it was knew that Mac had written a book, and according to him, the only two people he’d told were the producer and me. He couldn’t think of a reason for the producer to shoot herself in the foot, and to be honest, neither can I…”

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