Page 86 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

And?It’s completely disarming. I’m sitting next to someone who might have just destroyed one of my best friend’s life, and I want to makehimfeel better about it. I hate seeing him like this—wearing his unhappiness like a cloak of shame. He’s better than this. “I mean—if you’re that fucked up about what you’ve done,you can always call him and take it back. Limit the damage to bankrupting him. Keep Silas the fuck out of it.”

“Marianne has the video,” he says. “She’ll use it if I don’t.”

“And that’s fine with you?” I ask.

“I get it—okay? What you’re implying. I know she’s using me, and I don’t know why she gives a fuck about this other than she hates men in general after what happened to her?—”

“Hold on.” I hold up a hand to stop him. “What exactly happened to her?”

Gibson’s eyes widen like he realizes he said too much.

“Look, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. You mentioned something about trauma when we were in Rome—she hates men—including you for whatever reason?—”

“I never said she hated me.”

“Anyway, I can connect the dots,” I tell him.

“It happened in Ibiza,” he says.

I lift my brows. Not to make light of the situation, but Ibiza is one of those places I’ve heard about but can’t be sure actually exists—like Atlantis for rich people. “What did?” I ask gently.

“She was taken from a club by a group of men and raped. She woke up in a strange bed in a strange place, bleeding, bruised, totally violated—it was so bad, Christian. The three men who did it—they were all still there—sitting around in the other room, and they just let her walk out like she was nothing. She had no clue where she was. No phone. Her clothes were all ripped and…” He chokes on his next words and clears his throat.

“When was this?” I ask.

“The summer after grad school for her. It was a couples’ trip, but I had to be here—I had summer classes I had to take to catch up. Fucking Fischer and his girlfriend went along with a few other couples, but not me. So she was the only person without someone to take care of her—keep her safe.”

As the picture comes into sharper focus, I realize I shouldhave seen it before. Guilt. It’s like looking in a fucking mirror. No wonder we connect the way we do.

“The police picked her up on the road, took her to a hospital. She was able to get in touch with her friends who got in touch with me, and I was on the next plane, but I was too late, you know?”

“Yeah,” I say. I do know.

“I should have been there.”

I should have known she wasn’t sleeping anymore.“I’m sorry,” I tell him because I don’t have much else to offer. There is no worse feeling that I’m aware of.

He shakes his head, his gaze sliding from his drink to me. His hair falls across his forehead, and I resist the urge to put it back where it belongs, but it’s hard not to touch him. Very hard.

“It was a long time ago,” he says.

“But you’re both still dealing with the fallout, sounds like.”

He drops his gaze again, sinking even lower in his seat. “Yeah, well…”

Maybe this is shitty, but it’s hard for me to muster a ton of sympathy for her when I’m sitting here looking at what the years have done to him. I don’t begrudge Marianne her trauma, but hurting other people to cope isn’t exactly healthy. I’d like to understand it better—the way he does.

“This is her M.O., then?” I ask. “Make all men suffer? When doesthatend?”

He gives me a helpless look along with a shrug.

“Gibson…fuck.”

“I know,” he sighs.

“And you don’t think maybe she’s using that hate to fuck you over a little, too?”

He sucks on his lower lip as he stares into his empty glass. “I don’t even know who I am without her,” he whispers.

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