“But you wanted my dad’s approval.”

“These people aren’t my parents.” I pulled her toward the car.

“How can you say that?” She dawdled, gazing over her shoulder at the church. I felt myself freezing up inside. Chilling toward her. “It’s so … ungrateful, Matt.”

“Am I supposed to be grateful that my parents died? My parents would have loved you, and you’re what I want. A simple girl—” The words tumbled out without a thought, and I gaped.

Hannah’s hand stiffened in mine.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said, but I couldn’t take it back.

The dull impact of my words receded. Hannah swallowed and trailed me to the car.

I’d turned to ice inside. No meaningful emotion could pass from me to her. We drove back to the Fudge Shoppe in silence. I ran the church key in to Stephen and bought a little bag of toffee and chocolate brittle. I plopped the candy on Hannah’s lap; she mumbled a thank-you.

Fuck. I could see her pulling away from me—wondering who the hell I was, to call her “a simple girl.” But I’d meant something different … something better.

We returned to Morristown.

I’d envisioned a day spent in Flemington, and me opening up to Hannah completely. So much for that. We got back to the hotel by two. Hannah went straight up to the room for a nap, insisting she wasn’t hungry. I sat alone in Rod’s, the hotel restaurant, and ordered a cup of crab bisque and a glass of Coke.

I stirred the soup and broke the crab cake into tiny pieces with my spoon.

Hell, I wasn’t hungry either.

A simple girl … what I wanted. Couldn’t Hannah understand? I didn’t want the affectation surrounding my aunt and uncle. I also didn’t want the middle-class life on which my parents insisted; I didn’t share their humble values. I wanted something uniquely ours—something natural for us.

I shoved away my soup. It had been a mistake to go to Flemington—to see that old sunlight and remember. Stupid.

I drank my Coke, paid the bill, and stalked out across the hotel lawn.

God, I despised this blanket of humidity.

I gave Nate a call and asked if it wouldn’t be too much trouble for him to drive to Ella and Rick’s tomorrow. “Hannah asked for you,” I said. “Moral support or something.”

“Does she need moral support?” Nate sounded affable, as always, and I sounded half-unhinged, as always.

“Hell if I know,” I snapped. “She thinks they hate her.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I called her a simple girl. God, I said that today.” I leaned against a tree.

“‘Simple’?” Nate chuckled. “Well, she is very sweet.”

“Mm, but how could I say that? She’s hurt. Pissed. I don’t know.”

“I’m sure. Give her time. Apologize. Be good to her, Matt. She’s a gem.”

“I know she’s a fucking gem. I am good to her. I’m the best I can be.”

“Better than this, I hope.” He yawned in my ear and I glowered at the grass. “I’ll see if Val feels up to visiting Ella and Rick tomorrow. Either way, I’ll drive up.”

“Thank you.”

“Not at all. It’ll be great to see you two.” Again, he urged me to apologize to Hannah—he was the nettling good angel on my shoulder—and said good-bye.

I returned to our hotel room with every intention of apologizing, but Hannah was still asleep. I rummaged through my suitcase. There, among the shirts, was my little surprise for Hannah: a stainless-steel plug with a sapphire on the stopper. Desire rippled through me.

That morning, Hannah had caught me writing in my journal from Mike. Matt’s Black Book, as I had started to think of it.

The entry was rambling, lust-fueled.

I wrote about pain. Her pain, my pleasure. Restraints. A riding crop.

Violent desire …

Sometimes, I could almost convince myself that Hannah might like my “aberrant desires.” She’d let me spank her in the past, after all, with my hand and a belt, and I’d used clamps and other toys with her.

Then, when I was sneaking between the mountains and our condo, we’d indulged in a weekend of rough sex. Struggle and force. Pleading, overpowering. A dark role-play. But I never really knew if Hannah liked those pleasures on the fringes of normalcy, and that fierce sex seemed localized in a riskier time.

Too anxious to rest, too tired to write, I sank into the armchair with my laptop and browsed the Net: Twitter … Facebook … Gmail.

I had one new e-mail from an unfamiliar sender, krazybaby88. I opened it.

Subject: (no subject)

Sender: krazybaby88

Date: Friday, June 20, 2014

Time: 9:20 AM

I know something you don’t know. Your girlfriend knows, too. I wonder why she hasn’t told you. Christine Catalano is pregnant. Who’s the proud daddy?

It’s Seth Sky!

Chapter 11

HANNAH

Matt’s aunt and uncle lived in a townhouse in Moore Estate, a bucolic luxury community minutes from our hotel.

I woke up alone that morning, which didn’t surprise me. Matt was in one of his moods.

We’d spent the rest of yesterday in the hotel, skirting each other. I watched HBO and ordered room service. He hit the exercise machines, showered, and left for half a dozen smokes. I couldn’t get a word out of him.

What the hell was that about? I was the injured party here. He’d called me “a simple girl.” Yeah, a regular country bumpkin compared to the great Matthew Sky.