Page 86 of Lady and the Hitman
“Yes,” Gloria said. “But never with this much heat behind it. There’s chatter, you know. At church. The club. Your name’s come up more than once.”
My stomach turned. I knew how this town worked. Whisper campaigns in Charleston were like humidity—thick, inescapable, and always worst when you pretended not to notice.
“And what are they saying exactly?” I asked, trying not to sound defensive.
Tina raised a brow. “That you seem awfully well-informed for someone writing hypothetically.”
The air shifted.
My mom gave a tight smile and changed the subject—asked whether the new lemon balm in the herb garden had taken root. But the damage was already done. The implication hung in the air like a thundercloud.
I made polite conversation. Asked about their grandkids. Let myself be pulled into a discussion about new signage for the nursery’s weekend market. But inside, I was unraveling.
Not because I’d been caught.
Because I hadn’t.
Because these women were circling, sniffing, but they hadn’t found the meat of it yet. They didn’t know thatI’d been writhing beneath a man whose name I hadn’t known until the plane ride home. That I’d let him touch me like I was his to worship. That I was seeing him again tonight and already imagining the feel of his breath on my neck.
They didn’t know that Alpha Mail wasn’t just a controversy I was covering. It was a fire I’d walked into willingly.
After the women left—kisses on cheeks and tight-lipped smiles all around—I helped my mom water the porch plants and refill the hummingbird feeder. She didn’t mention the gossip again. But when I said I needed to get home, she didn’t argue.
“You’ve got plans tonight,” she said as she rinsed her hands in the sink.
I hesitated. “I do.”
She didn’t look at me. “Is it with him?”
The question was soft. Not judgmental. But not innocent either.
“Yes,” I said finally.
She nodded. “Is he ... good to you?”
My throat tightened. “I think so.”
My mom turned then, drying her hands on a linen towel. “Zara, I know I can’t tell you how to live your life. You’ve always been strong-willed. Fierce. Like your daddy.”
“But?” I asked, because I could feel it coming.
“But this town doesn’t always give second chances. Once they decide who you are—especially as a woman—it’s hard to change their minds.”
I nodded slowly. “I know.”
She stepped forward and touched my cheek. “Just don’t let someone else write your story before you’re ready to live it.”
I swallowed. “I’ll be careful.”
She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No, honey. I hope you’ll be bold. Just … know the cost.”
I left not long after, heart heavy and head pounding. The drive back to my townhouse felt longer than usual, like every red light was a reminder. I couldn’t get over how the neighborhood looked exactly the same, but I felt different.
Like I was walking through the same world in a body that wasn’t mine anymore.
By the time I pulled into the drive, the sun was beginning to lower in the sky. I sat in the car for a minute, staring at the front door like it might open on its own.
I had two hours until Ronan.
