Page 104 of Say You Will

I can’t see the rest without entering Henry’s passcode. I do it without a second thought.

Spencer: . . .caution you against allowing her to delay much longer. Her father’s public announcement of your engagement has gone some way toward mollifyingyour grandmother. Well done. I must admit, initially, I felt your decision to convince her to fall in love was misplaced. I hadn’t fully taken her preexisting feelings for you into consideration. If you haven’t managed to secure her as your wife by the end of the week, we have a report indicating your sister’s former housemate, Sydney Walsh, is experiencing financial difficulties and may welcome a business relationship that better suits your needs. Your time is nearly up.

A stab of agony arrows through me, as every bit of heat exits my body. Then rage pours over me like kerosene tossed on a grill, a conflagration obliterating everything in its path.

I scroll up through previous texts.

Spencer: Your cousin Lawrence reportedly threw a public tantrum when Mr. Lennox posted the engagement announcement. Your grandmother won’t be happy with him when she hears of it. You may be able to leverage his lack of control to your advantage. The photo of you and Ms. Lennox from your teenage years was a brilliant touch.

I sink to the bed and open a file with my name on it that Spencer sent Henry two weeks ago. It’s a list of suggestions ranging from cooking my favorite meals to “sharing a vulnerable moment from our shared past” to taking me to an isolated location where we can “bond” without outside influences. There’s an asterisk with a note indicating the location should have “only one bed,” and it should be no larger than a full-size mattress.

Everything in this cabin is well-used. The leather on the living room furniture is comfortably worn in. I’d been surprised by that fact. I’d also been surprised by the size of the bed because it was smaller than I would have imagined Henry would use.

I rip the comforter back, then drag off the sheets and electric heated mattress pad. Further down, I find the mattress. The bed frame and headboard show no wear, whatsoever, and don’t appear to match any of the other furniture in the cabin. The mattress looks brand new.

I have no way of knowing for certain. Like a crazy person, I shove my face into the mattress to see if it smells new, but it’s impossible to tell. We’ve been here for a week already.

The list is insane, ranging from telling Henry exactly how many seconds to hold eye contact with me, to when and how long to hold my hand. Henry told me he’d chosen his terms of endearment deliberately, and I’d thought it wassweet. But this puts things in an entirely different light. This was manipulation.

I thought I knew what a master at work looked like. I thought I was someone who couldn’t be tricked by love bombing and gaslighting ever again. I thought Henry wasn’t the kind of person who would do something like that.

I press my palm to my mouth hard, holding in the sob that wants to break free.

I should march out there and tell him to kiss my ass and that I want to leave. I should be nice and tell him he can forget marrying me, and he’d better scurry off and ask Sydney to be his wife so he doesn’t miss his deadline for gaining control of his precious company.

I don’t feel like being nice. I feel like ruining all his fucking plans.

I tap out of his phone and put it back under my jacket on the dresser. Then I go in the bathroom to wash my face and figure out what comes next. I’m in here for only a few seconds when Henry taps on the door. “Love? Have you seen my phone? I have some things I need to deal with.”

I turn off the water and take a fortifying breath. “Yep. It’s on the dresser under my jacket. ”

“Thanks. My watch is blowing up with texts from my PA.”

A nasty suspicion niggles at me, but surely he wouldn’t contrive a dangerous situation to make me feel like I needed his protection. There were other innocent people on the road who could have been hurt. He wouldn’t.

But not a single bullet from our attackers hit our car.

“What’s going on with the bed?” he calls.

“I was trying to figure out how to use the mattress pad.”

“I think the instructions are in the drawer next to it. I ordered it for you, so I haven’t used it either. I thought it might help if your joints were bothering you.”

I huff silently. “That’s very sweet of you.”

“Dinner is chicken piccata. I have the moscato you like too.”

“My favorite,” I say flatly. “I’m not drinking tonight, though. I can’t have alcohol in the twenty-four hours before or after my injection.”

“All right. Love, are you okay? You sound upset.”

I scrub my hands over my face.

“Franki?” When I don’t respond, he rattles the doorknob.

I know what my mother would do. She’d string him along until it was too late, and he was out of time. Then when he’d lost the stupid shares that mean so much to him, she’d laugh in his face in revenge.

But I wasn’t made for lies and manipulation, no matter how many years I lived with it. I’m not my mother, and I never want to be. I’m done playing other people’s games.

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