Page 107 of Hate Me Like You Mean It
“She was a seventeen-year-old kid,” I said, hating that my chin wobbled, undermining my anger. “Thehousekeeper steals jewelrybit is about as cliché as it gets, so how is it possible that a literal kid was able to get away with it? I don’t understand. I don’t get why Rosie didn’t just deny it, or how you could’ve beenin love with meand that good at hiding it. I don’t get how I put so much blind trust in someone who apparently hated my fucking guts. I don’t get how I didn’t see any of it, and I… Am I that stupid? Is that why?”
His expression softened, and he stepped forward, his arms wrapping around me. I allowed it, stuffing my face into the comfort of his warm, broad chest.
“You’re not stupid.”
“Bullshit.”
“Alice, you’renotstupid. You were a kid, too, remember? This isn’t on you.”
I sniffled, returning his embrace. “There’s more, right? Something else that I don’t know?”
He sighed. “Later. We’ll sit down, and I’ll tell you everything once you’ve had some sleep. I promise.”
I snuggled closer, tightening my hold on him. “Please. The wait will be worse than the actual thing, so please just tell me. Better yet, call your mom. Let me talk to her.”
He hesitated. “It’s not that simple.”
Something about the way he said it made panic spear through my chest. I leaned back so I could look at him. “What does that mean? Why not?” My heart seized when his expression fell, and in my freshly blindsided, frazzled state, I jumped to the worst possible conclusion. “Dominic, I swear, if she’s… if something happened to her and you were planning some sort of fucked-up reveal to get back at me when all of this was over, please,please?—”
“She’s not dead,” he interrupted, dragging a hand through his hair. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”
The dizzying relief was as instant as it was premature, slamming into me before he’d finished the thought.
It made it that much harder to accept the truth when he finally came clean.
34
Alice
Had it not been for Dominic’s briefing of the situation during the two-hour car ride, and the large, decorated sign perched in front of the iron gates, I could have easily assumed that the vine-covered, English-style manor was Rosie’s lake house.
She’d always wanted one. Her vision might have been for a smaller, more quaint version of the hotel-esque property we’d pulled up to, sure, but the extravagance and abundance could have been explained away by her never-ending obsession withDownton Abbeyand her son’s overt incompatibility with moderation.
She would’ve loved it.
Or maybe she still did. Maybe thinking about her in the past tense was wrong, or dehumanizing, or… I didn’t really know what to think, how to act, what to do with my hands or my face or my voice.
A middle-aged woman with cropped gray hair stepped out to greet us as Dom tipped the valet. She was wearing an auburn wool turtleneck that looked tight and suffocating and abrasive,and maybe that’s why she was slouched like she was in pain and smiled the way people do at funerals.
It was unsettling and off-putting, and my skin was blotching and itching just watching the coarse fibers dig into her neck as she led us through the grand doors, into the grand foyer, up the grand stairs, past the grand library, and to a completely separate grand wing of the manor.
The lighting, the decor, the design—none of it was any different. There were just as many fresh flowers stuffed into porcelain vases, just as many oil paintings plastered on the pale blue walls, and just as many vintage chandeliers hanging from the tall, textured ceilings in this wing as there had been in the ones we’d passed. Somehow, though, it all felt so much more muted on this side of the door.
The air was stuffier.
Phantom wool scraped against my neck like barbed wire, and I scratched, having completely forgotten about Dominic’s presence until he caressed my shoulder and almost sent me flying.
“Hey,” he whispered, slowing us to a stop, unconcerned that we would lose Sage—the woman with the patient eyes and uncomfortable sweater. “Let’s pause for a second and take a breather.”
How? There was no oxygen in here.
“Amgood.” The back of my neck was weirdly cold and damp, especially given how hot the rest of me was burning, but other than that, I was fine.
His brows pinched. “You’re sweating.”
A rattling noise scraped out of my throat. It was meant to ease his worries, but it sounded like an alien attempting to replicate a human laugh.
Jaw working, he threw a glance down the hall, where Sage was waiting patiently with her hands clasped loosely in front of her.
