Chapter 70

Hannah

The ride back to the mansion was silent, the low rumble of the car’s engine and the tires crunching across the pavement the only sounds that filled the void between us. I kept my gaze fixed out the window, watching the city lights blur past us all too slowly for my liking.

I didn’t even dare to turn and look at Noah.

How could he not even remember something so simple, so fundamental as the age we were or the date when we had met?

I remembered every tiny, infinitesimal detail of that night as though it had been just yesterday. From the color of the tie Noah had been wearing on our first date—a deep forest green that almost perfectly matched the color of his eyes—to the slightly nervous way he kept adjusting his shirtsleeves.

Hell, I could probably recreate the entire exchange word-for-word if I concentrated hard enough. That moment had been seared into my memory, replayed in my mind’s eye more times than I could count over the long, bitter years that followed.

But he had mixed me up with Zoe.

Zoe, his perfect girl. His true high school sweetheart. I was just an afterthought, and so was our entire relationship. And tonight, I had made the mistake of thinking for a moment that he actually cared rather than the fact that he was simply using me to fulfill some agenda of his.

The question was… what agenda? I snuck a sidelong glance at his imposing profile, feeling my teeth grit just upon looking at him.

Just what had tonight been about, really? All of the soft words and gentlemanly gestures, the pretty dress and the fancy event… had any of it been real? Or was this whole evening simply another calculated chess move in whatever game Noah was playing?

I couldn’t stand the nagging uncertainty any longer.

“Alright,” I said abruptly. “Now that the event is over, are you going to tell me what you actually want?”

Noah’s piercing gaze flickered in my direction briefly before he looked away once more, but not before I caught a glimpse of something that almost looked like guilt in his eyes. Again.

“I don’t want anything from you,” he finally said, his deep voice even and controlled as ever. “I wanted to have a nice evening out, celebrate our first meeting. Is that so hard to believe?”

I scoffed before I could stop myself. “Yes, considering that you got me mixed up with Zoe.”

Noah turned to look at me fully again. “I already told you,” he insisted, “this has nothing to do with Zoe.”

“But you got our meeting date and ages mixed up.”

“It was an accident.” He shook his head and looked out the window again. “I met Zoe in the spring, not the winter. And we were both kids.”

“Oh, so you remember that easily, but not meeting your own wife,” I pressed. I shook my head slowly, pursing my lips. “You’ve always cared more about her, anyway. I don’t even know why I let it upset me at this point.”

That seemed to strike a nerve. Noah’s jaw clenched for a moment, and he didn’t speak. Finally, when he did, his voice was strained as ever. “Is that what this is about?” he growled. “Dates?”

“You tell me. You’re the one who supposedly wanted to celebrate our meeting anniversary.”

For a handful of moments, there was only silence, so heavy it felt like I could hardly even breathe beneath the weight of it. Then, Noah spoke, the words coming out slow and through gritted teeth.

“Fine. There have been… rumors. About us.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “About an impending separation.”

Of course there would be rumors; neither of us had exactly acted like we were madly in love in… well, years. Maybe not even ever, actually. But that wasn’t what hurt.

No angle, I thought bitterly, fighting the sting of shameful tears burning at the backs of my eyes. No, not an angle at all, except an attempted coverup.

For one fleeting, foolish instant, I had actually allowed myself to believe that Noah was trying. That maybe, just maybe, he wanted to rekindle whatever spark had burned so bright between us once upon a time. That the fiery passion in his eyes when he had kissed me might have been real.

But of course it wasn’t. Of course not. I was a fool.

It was nothing more than a desperate ploy to sweep our marital problems back under the rug, to preserve a unified front for the sake of appearances. Politics and posturing, as always.

And I had fallen for it, dangling helplessly from the gossamer threads of hope like a lovesick moron.

“I see,” I finally muttered, the words feeling like shards of broken glass in my throat. I shifted my gaze to stare straight ahead, unable to even look at the man beside me any longer. “Well, thank you for the dress and the lovely evening out, Noah. I appreciate you taking the time to put on such a convincing act, even it was just for show.”

Out of my peripheral vision, I saw Noah flinch almost imperceptibly at that.

“Tell me one thing, though?” I asked, swiveling my head to pin him with a level stare. “That promise you made on our wedding night about always loving me… was that a lie, too? Or were you just a better actor back then?”

Noah’s expression went utterly, painfully blank at that. For an endless moment, the car was utterly silent—not even the engine seemed to make a sound. I was grateful for the partition keeping our conversation private from the driver, because he probably would have been holding his breath, too.

Then, Noah swallowed.

“Hannah…” His voice was low, scratchy, almost pained.

But I didn’t let him finish.

“Never mind,” I said, waving a hand dismissively as I turned to look back out the window. “I don’t want to know.”

We spent the rest of the drive in uneasy silence, neither of us daring to speak. Although, I don’t think either of us had anything to say at all.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the wrought iron gates of the mansion came into view. I let out a small breath of relief when I saw the familiar rusty red cupolas and the thick green ivy climbing the bricks—Goddess, when we got divorced, I would miss this house. It was always quite pretty.

The car rolled to a stop at the top of the pebbled driveway, and I reached for the door handle without hesitation.

“I think you should stay in your office tonight,” I stated flatly, not even bothering to look in Noah’s direction as I shoved the door open and stepped out onto the driveway. “I want the house to myself.”

Noah didn’t respond, not that I expected him to.

Only once Noah had given the brusque order for the driver to pull away did I turn on my heel, heading for the front door. But I stopped when I heard his voice call after me.

“Hannah.”

I froze, feeling my hands clench at my sides. My eyes closed almost involuntarily, and for a moment—just a moment—I almost imagined him jumping out of the car and running to me, taking me into his arms and kissing me there. I imagined him telling me that he always loved me, that he always would, that his promise had been true.

But he didn’t.

I turned, slowly, and opened my eyes. He was holding my clutch out the window with a stony expression on his face.

“You forgot this.”