KATHERINE

By the time Matthew and I stepped into his house, I was absolutely certain. I had poured over the pages during my lunch break, in the lobby after punching out, and in the car as Matthew drove us back to his house. This was my book.

At first, white-hot rage coiled around my throat so that I could hardly greet Matthew when he picked me up. Once the front door closed behind me, though, it seemed it was all I could do not to scream.

"Are you hungry?" Matthew called from the kitchen.

"Starving," answered Erland, stepping up from the basement.

Matthew glanced up at me as I stopped at the threshold of the kitchen. Concern streaked across his face, disappearing as quickly as it had shown. He tossed Erland his phone. "Today's my treat. Order some pizza, whatever you want."

Erland snatched the phone out of the air. "Anything?"

Matthew made a face. "Within reason, kid."

Undeterred, Erland cracked a grin. "Absolutely," he said, and went back down to the basement—most likely to hide the order for Matthew's frugal ear.

As soon as Erland had gone, Matthew's nonchalant facade melted. He crossed the kitchen to my side. "Is everything okay, Katherine?" He asked. "How did work go today?"

I swallowed, throat tight. "It went fine," I croaked.

I let Matthew lead me to the couch, where I sank down, and he returned with a cup of cinnamon tea. The scent wafted up with the steam, reminding me of our summers by the lake, where we had laughed until I had to go back north for classes again. He sat beside me, elbows on his knees, and studied me.

"I won't make you talk if you don't want to, Kat," he said, "but I have to say you've got me worried. I know you've had a rough few weeks, and if there's anything I can do to help you, please let me know."

He stood to leave and his clean peppermint scent washed over me. I let out a breath. "Nobody knew who I was," I said. "At Wayward. I learned from Grey about how Nick turned the bookstore into a publishing house with his brother's help."

Matthew paused and sat once more, this time across from me. "A bookstore? I didn't think Nicolas was the reading type."

A wry chuckle escaped my lips. "He's not. I am. We invested in the bookstore while we were engaged. After . . . After everything fell apart, I let him take it. I didn't want anything to do with the past."

I put the manuscript beside me and picked up the tea. Warmth seeped into my fingers. He was silent while I sipped from the cup, a thoughtful expression on his face. Golden sunlight streamed in from the windows, turning Matthew's brown eyes into a brilliant amber. He met my gaze, and all at once, words spewed from my lips like lava from a volcano.

"I still don't understand how it all happened," I said. "We were happy, planning the wedding, our future. I knew I was working a lot, but if he was mad because I wasn't around, he didn't say anything." Tear pricked my eyes, spilling over in a hot wave. "He should've said something. . . . . And Victoria was my maid of honor—of course she was supposed to help. Should I have expected her to stay away?"

I turned my gaze to the floor. This was Nick's fault. And Victoria's.

But if that was so, then why did I feel like a salamander under a blowtorch? If only I hadn't gone away for a week to finish that project.... Or stayed up so many nights to finish writing my novel.... Or even—

"It's not your fault, Kat."

Matthew's voice interrupted my thoughts, and I hastily wiped my cheeks. "I know it's not," I snapped, immediately regretting it. I opened my mouth to apologize, but stopped at the annoyed expression on his face.

"Have you thought that this might be your grandfather's doing?" He asked.

He might as well have slapped me. "Wh-what are you saying?"

Matthew let out a sigh. "The ultimate decision would be Nick and Victoria's—I'm not taking that away—but you've said before that your grandfather has it out for you. Could he have orchestrated something behind the scenes?"

I know my grandfather is a vindictive, gnarled old man, but this? Could he be capable of destroying my potential marriage? I considered Matthew's point, then shook my head.

"It doesn't matter," I said. "He wasn't the one that made Nick take Tori back to our hotel room, did he?"

But even as I spoke, I considered the perfect coincidence that I happened to be showing up to the hotel late, having left my phone at Mom's house, and needed the concierge to take me to the honeymoon suite I would be sharing with Nick. I didn't believe him when he said that the couple had already come up, until I caught sight of Nick, drunk and disheveled, opening the door for me, and heard my best friend's voice asking who had interrupted them.

I don't care who else had a part to play—because no one except those two made the decision to stab me in the back like that.

Matthew looked like he had something else to say, but my phone rang and he excused himself.

"Hey, Kat," said Betsy. Hearing her voice immediately made me sit up straight and I put a hand on the manuscript beside me.

"Betsy," I breathed. "I'm so glad you called. I have to tell you about the book—"

"Your mom is awake."

I was stunned into silence. "I-I'm sorry. Say that again."

Betsy repeated herself, laughing this time, and asked if I wanted to speak with her. The line crackled as the phone was passed, and then Mom's warm voice came out over the speaker. "Katherine, are you there?"

"Yes," I said, a lump in my throat. "I'm so glad you're awake, Mom. How do you feel?"

Mom laughed, her voice week. "Like one of your Barbie's when you were a girl. Looks like the doctors took scissors to my hair."

I let out a chuckle, a fresh wave of tears coming down my cheeks. "Oh, Mom, I'm so glad to hear you're okay. I'm in Alabama right now, but Betsy said she'll be taking care of you."

A male voice came out over the speaker, gruff and mean. Gramps. "We don't need any help, now do we, Camille?"

My blood froze in my veins. While having Mom on the phone, I wanted to mention if she knew the truth. About my half of Wayward publishing. But if she did—and if Gramps doesn't—I can't say anything without him finding out.

"Betsy, take me off of speaker. I need to say something to the nurses."

A few moments later, I heard the door close and the hustle-bustle of the hospital. "I'll get you on the phone with a nurse, sweetie, just give me a minute."

"Betsy," I said, voice hard. "I don't need a nurse. I just needed you to get out of the room so I could tell you something."

"What's the matter?"

Should I tell her about the manuscript? No, that could wait a little longer. Besides, Betsy might accidentally give something away to Rick, which would feed back to his deal with Victoria to buy Wayward. No, I had to keep silent for now.

"I need you to stick around with Mom. And I need to talk to her at some point when Gramps isn't there."

"I'll visit her again tomorrow," Betsy answered, "and give you a call then."

I nodded. "Good, thank you." After a moment, I added. "You're a really good friend, Betsy."

Betsy laughed. "You are too, Kat."

With that, I hung up and stood from the couch, manuscript in hand. I went downstairs, passing Erland engrossed in his video game, and hid the manuscript in my suitcase and slid the suitcase in the back of the closet. After a moment of consideration, I added a little lock and tucked the key into my wallet. That should be good enough.

Back in the basement, Erland had disappeared. I found upstairs in the kitchen with Matthew, both of them engaging in a playful fight.

"Yes," Erland was saying, "that is reasonable."

Matthew raised an eyebrow. "You expect me to believe you'll eat an entire extra large pizza?"

"If you dare me to."

"I dare you to take the bill," said Matthew, grinning.

Erland's reply was interrupted by the doorbell and he scurried to answer it.

While Erland was gone, Matthew turned to me. "I'm sorry, Kat, about what I said. I don't know the full story, so I shouldn't make assumptions." He sighed. "I won't say anything about your past. It has nothing to do with me."

I nodded. "Thanks, Matt," I said, "but you're a friend. And iron sharpens iron, doesn't it? I know that at the end of the day, even if I don't like it, I can trust you to be honest."

Matthew grinned widely at that, sending a wave of heat flushing over me. Even as I spoke, I knew I had been lying. Of course, Matthew was an honest man. That was without doubt. The question is, did I really want to consider him as only a friend?

Before I could stamp down my emotions, the front door closed and Erland reappeared with two pizza boxes.

"How did you pay for those?" I said, giving him a mock glare.

He shrugged. "Matt left his wallet on the table in the foyer. Thanks for dinner."