by Viv Daniels
That bastard! His stupid torn sleeping bag, and “oh, I had a buddy who went to college” and “we’re from different worlds” and how fucking dare he?
I went up to the lobby and borrowed the building manager’s hand truck. The quicker I could get my furniture out of Boone’s truck, the better.
He was waiting for me near the loading dock. He’d told me all kinds of terrible things about his mom without once mentioning she was my neighbor.
“Look,” he said, as I pulled down the tailgate and climbed up into the truck bed. This was where his stupid lying mouth had done deeply wonderful things to my body. “You’re right. I should have told you.”
I shoved against the mattress and did not answer. He’d acted like he was just some handyman working on their roof all those weeks.
“But when was that supposed to be?” He caught the other end of the mattress and lowered it down onto the hand truck. “When we were at the bar? When we were hooking up on my truck? It was a one-night stand, Hannah. I didn’t think I owed you my life story at that point in our relationship.”
I started in on the box spring. I hoped it fell on his dumb head. God, I couldn’t even list all the ways he’d deceived me.
“Honestly, I was a little worried if I told you that I was your neighbor’s son you wouldn’t have had sex with me, since it seemed really obvious what you wanted was some anonymous fling.”
I shot eye daggers at him and handed him the foot board. Really? He was painting lying to get laid as fulfilling my fantasy? Way to turn it around, asshole.
“You have some nerve acting mad at me,” I couldn’t help but say. “I’m a horrible person because I let my mother pressure me into a coffee date setup, but you get a free pass when your mom does the exact same thing to you?”
“I didn’t know about the setup until she told me you’d agreed,” he said.
“And how do you know I didn’t agree because I already knew about your little secret?” I shot back.
He pursed his lips. “I didn’t think you were just playing along.”
“Ah. You knew I’d be upset, then. Because people get like that when they discover the person they’re with is a liar.”
“A lie of omission, maybe.”
Right. Like my father failing to tell me I had a sister. Lies of omission were still lies.
“When we started spending more time together, I just—I didn’t know how to tell you. To be honest, I was afraid you would react just like this.”
I thrust the headboard at him. “Shut up, Ronnie,” I hissed. “Let’s just get my crap off your truck so you can go away.”
“Please don’t call me that.” He put out his hand to help me down from the tailgate, but I ignored him and hopped down on my own. “It’s really not my name. It’s not. I’ve begged my mother to call me Boone. I’ve corrected people when I discover she’s introduced me as Ronnie—”
“Oh, really?” I drawled. “You corrected my parents?”
He ducked his head. “I may have neglected to correct them. It was…really hard to talk to your parents yesterday.”
“I can fucking imagine.” Bastard.
“But they seem nice.”
“You’re a moron.” I swept into the elevator and punched the button for my floor, leaving Boone to maneuver the loaded hand truck in behind me. “You think they’d be nice to you if they knew what you’d just done to their little princess?”
Boone said nothing.
“You think they would have given you the time of day had they thought you were anyone other than Ronnie Nesbit the Fourth?” I tossed my hair over my shoulder. “Don’t kid yourself.”
The door opened and I walked down the hall to my new apartment. I unlocked the door and held it open for him.
He wheeled my bed into the apartment, lowered the hand truck to the ground and faced me. “So you’re saying you were only willing to give me the time of day before you found out what my birth name was?”
“I’m saying I was only willing to give you the time of day before I found out that you were a lying bastard, just like every other guy I’ve ever been with.”
He clenched his jaw, then slid the furniture off the cart, and jerked it behind him out of my studio. The door shut behind him, leaving me bristling with anger in the empty space.
I palmed my keys, flicked the deadbolt to keep the door propped open and headed down to my car to get another load of clothes.
For the next half hour, we barely crossed paths as we emptied our cars of all my worldly possessions. The sun slanted low in the sky, giving way to the evening I was supposed to be spending eating takeout food off Boone’s bare chest.
Dammit! Damn you, Byron Oscar whatever Nesbit. That didn’t even spell Boone. It spelled BOON. So there.
I returned to my apartment with my final bag of stuff to find Boone standing there, empty hand truck at his side, surveying the pile of boxes and furniture. “I don’t know where you want this stuff.”
“I can handle it from here.”
“Hannah, please…”
I looked up at him. “What?”
“I’m really, truly sorry. I was going to tell you tonight.”
“Well, then!” I exclaimed, with a mocking hand on my chest. “You beat your plans by two hours! Want a cookie?”
“When would you have wanted me to tell you?” When I didn’t respond, his expression grew hard. “You wouldn’t have. It’s not when I told you or when I didn’t. You’re mad because you think this makes some kind of difference. You can’t have your low-class handyman side piece anymore if you know he can dress up in a tux and make himself into someone your mom would like.”
I straightened. “If by that you mean that you’ve been lying to me about who you really are since the day we met and therefore cannot possibly be the guy I thought I was dating, then yes.”
“I’m exactly the guy you thought,” he snapped. “It doesn’t matter who my parents are.”
“Oh, but you fought the idea of being with me because I’m a Swift?”
“Yes!” He scrubbed a hand through his stubbly hair in frustration. “I’ve been hiding from my past since I was fifteen, Hannah. My mother and I—we have a truce these days. Not a relationship. And I didn’t want—no. No, I did want to be with you. But I knew if I did, I’d have to acknowledge who I was and where I came from. I’d have to let at least some of that world in, even if it was just the part you inhabited.”
“Am I supposed to be flattered?” I asked in disbelief. “That you were willing to lower your bum standards to date a girl with money?”
“No,” he growled. “You’re supposed to be understanding about how much that prospect terrifies me.”
“Sure,” I said. “My neighborhood is such a horror story.”
“You have no idea what could be going on behind closed doors. And money helps them hide.”
“Well, you know all about hiding, don’t you?” I took the three steps to the door and opened it, standing aside in a blatant invitation for him to get the hell out. “Thank you for helping me move.”
“Hannah…”
“Sorry, Ronnie,” I sneered. “I’m full up on liars in my life.”
He sighed and walked out, but as soon as he crossed the threshold, he turned. “You know, I thought I had more than enough reasons to hate the fact that I was born Ronnie Nesbit. Thanks for giving me one more.”
I would not bend. I would not budge. These liars in my life—they got away with everything. “You know,” I shot back, “for someone who so prides himself on ‘declaring the truth thou hast, on proclaiming it everywhere’ or whatever that poem says, you sure are good at hiding it. Maybe you should get a different tattoo. Something about tangled webs?” I slammed the door before I could relent.
There was a thump—not a pound, not even a knock—on the other side of the door. Then…nothing.
I fell on my pile of unpacked towels and pillows and started to cry. Every man I knew was a liar. Dylan, Boone, my own fa
ther. How stupid could I be?
I don’t know how long I spent sitting there, going over every conversation, every exchange, every moment spent with Boone through the lens of what I now knew about him. Letting slip he’d been to Europe. Calling the college boys at Canton rich when his own trust fund could probably pay for half the student body’s tuition. Talking about how “great” his high school had been before he dropped out. Sneakily paying for our drinks or movie tickets and making me think it was some grand romantic gesture. Wearing some bespoke tuxedo and calling it a costume. Getting me to actually feel sorry for him for sleeping in his truck or on his grandfather’s broken-down boat. Poor little rich boy.
Boone! Ha! Even his name was a joke. Here I’d thought it was some cute, lower-class cowboy name, and it was probably a prep-school affectation. Anything, I supposed, was better than Ronnie.
And I’d fallen for it, too. I was stupider than even I had imagined. I’d seen him at the Monroe House and thought he was there for me. I should have known, by his suit if by nothing else. And the poetry. And the yacht.
I bet he’d never really slept under bridges or dealt drugs, unless it was to his fellow billionaire buddies.
I rolled over and pounded the cushions. Ugh. And the things he’d said during sex, about being my dirty little secret. It really had all been some massive role-playing game to him. Pretend to be some rough and ready handyman, the boy toy for a spoiled, rich bitch. He’d called me sheltered and naive, but I was a bigger fool than I’d realized.
Don’t trust me, Hannah.
I’d argued against him, even then. I’d trusted him. I kept trusting people. And every last one of them let me down.
Somewhere in my pile of crap, I heard my cell phone ringing. That had better not be Boone. Ronnie. Whatever. I dug through my stuff and pulled it out. A Canton number, but not one I recognized. I dropped the phone to the pillow and rolled over, looking up at the bare ceiling fixture while it rang and rang. I should unpack, study, do something useful with my life. I should stop believing people’s pretty, overwrought declarations about how much they care about me.
My voicemail beeped. Boone had better not have left me a message. I did not want to hear his stupid voice again tonight. I pressed play.
“Hello, Hannah,” came a halting female voice I couldn’t immediately place. “It’s Tess.”
I blinked and sat up.
“I hope you’re doing well,” she went on. “I’m…back in town and I was wondering if you were willing to see me. Okay, let me know. Take care.”
Tess. The one I should probably hate more than everyone else. The secret sister. The boyfriend stealer.
The only one who told me the truth.
Twenty-One
What did you wear to have coffee with the sister you’ve only talked to once—well, twice, if you counted the short phone conversation we’d had setting up the place and time of our meeting. And a few more times, considering the short conversations you had back when you didn’t know you had a sister and she was busy stealing your boyfriend.
I settled on a pair of shorts and a simple top. I’d made sure she understood that it was just to be the two of us. Like a ransom drop. Like a rendezvous.
Tess was already at the cafe when I pulled up to the curb. She was seated at one of the tables, under a wide, red umbrella, drinking an iced coffee and reading the Canton course catalog. She was very punctual, my sister. Very studious. Very, very beautiful.
We didn’t actually look alike. I was slim and leggy and she was…she was a knockout. Curvy hips and a trim waist and sensational boobs and dark hair that didn’t need curlers to do that bouncy, shampoo-commercial thing. We had the same eyes—the mood-ring Swift eyes that changed colors on a daily basis, but right now, hers were hidden under a pair of sunglasses. Her skin was pale peaches-and-cream, like she hadn’t gotten out of the lab all summer.
Or maybe she just hadn’t gotten out of bed with Dylan.
I approached the table cautiously and she looked up. “Hi,” I said. “Should I just run inside and order?”
She glanced down at the table and I saw another cup there. Caramel frappe. My favorite.
“Oh,” I said, my lungs emptying. “Did…he tell you what to order me?”
“I’m sorry,” Tess said. “That was bad, wasn’t it?”
“No.” I sat and pulled the cup my way. “I appreciate the effort.” There was no point in doing this if the two of us were going to freeze up every time the topic of her boyfriend surfaced.
“He didn’t, you know,” she said quickly. “I mean, not just now. He mentioned it once and…I remembered.”
I nodded. Mind like a steel trap, my sister. Probably what made her such a good student.
“This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?” she asked me.
“Probably.” I took a sip. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t worth trying. I nodded at the course catalog. “You know, they have that online.”
“I know.” She hugged it to her chest. “I still like to go over to the registrar and get a hard copy. I just… I love the way it smells.”
And then…she smelled it. Dear lord. This woman was my sister? “Oh.”
She looked horrified.
Yeah, this was going to be a disaster. “So, did you have a good summer?”
She sighed in relief. “Yes. I loved the work I was doing out there.” She launched into a description of algae feedback something-or-others I couldn’t follow after the third sentence. She sounded like Dylan used to. What a pair. “What about you?”
“I spent a lot of time at the pool.”
She laughed, as if I’d told a joke, which only made me feel worse.
I spent a lot of time at the pool, and then I started having a crazy hot affair with this guy I thought was a handyman working next door, but he turned out to be an even bigger liar than your boyfriend.
Yeah, no. Not going to tell her that.
“And…Europe?”
“Fun. Fascinating. Not as enlightening as I would have imagined, though.”
“I’m sorry.” Her hand stretched out across the wrought iron tabletop, then stopped short of touching mine. “But…school is starting again soon. Are you excited?”
“Yes,” I lied.
“Me, too!” Tess beamed and patted the course catalog. Jesus. “I only have a few more pre-reqs and then I’ll basically be living in the Bio-E lab. I already have a fellowship set up for this fall. I can’t wait.”
“That’s awesome,” I managed. Another sip. Keep my mouth full of frappe, my eyes downcast. I’d survive.
She was quiet for a moment, and when I looked up to see why, I found her chewing all the lipstick off her bottom lip. Maybe that was genetic, too.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said now.
I narrowed my eyes. For Dylan?
“I wouldn’t be back here if you hadn’t talked Da—your father into helping me pay.”
“Our father,” I corrected. “You can say it.” Better to rip all these bandages off at once, right? See? We had plenty of things in common: Dad, Dylan…
“Are you taking Stats again this year?” she blurted.
“Huh?” Talk about a non sequitur.
“You said—last winter, you said—you dropped it last term. I was wondering if you’re going to try again.”
“No,” I said, baffled. “I’m not a marketing major anymore.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “Because if you were, I’d be happy to help. I’m really good at Stats.”
“Good for you,” I snapped. She was good at everything.
Tess fell silent and I felt bad. She was trying to thank me. I wasn’t so stupid that I couldn’t see that. But the last thing I needed was tutoring from my perfect, sexy sister.
“This was probably a mistake, huh?” she asked.
I shrugged and looked away.
“I just…” She took a breath. “I want to know you. I really, really want to know you. My whole life I’ve known about
you, and I swear I’m not a crazy stalker or anything, but I’ve, um, learned some things, and I’ve always wanted to actually meet you. To see how those facts…fit.”
“You want to examine me to see how the data you’ve collected fits your hypothesis?” I asked her sarcastically.
“Oh, God, I’m a real nerd, aren’t I?” Tess groaned.
“Yes. You smell course catalogs.”
“Right.”
I slurped up the last of my frappe. “What do you know about me?” Please don’t say sexy factoids from our mutual lover, Dylan.
“You play tennis.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re really fashionable.”
“Right.” I smirked.
“You like horror movies.”
I sat back in surprise. “What?”
“You like horror movies,” she repeated. “Like, on Facebook. You have all these horror movies listed as your favorites.”
I can’t believe she latched onto that. No one else ever had.
No one, that is, except Boone.
“You stalk my Facebook page?”
“I have been known to stalk your Facebook page, yes,” she admitted, ducking her chin. “But you stalked my restaurant.”
“Well, you don’t put anything useful on your Facebook page!” I pointed out. Which was kind of a relief this summer. The last thing I needed was endless pictures of Tess and Dylan canoodling in the Rocky Mountains.
And then I realized that I basically just admitted I stalk her page, too.
“True.” Tess sighed. “I was raised to be private, I guess.”
Made sense. She was raised to be a total secret.
“So,” she prodded. “Horror movies?”
“Yes. Horror movies.”
“You like tennis, and fashion, and…horror movies?”
This was the part where I shrugged and said I had to put something on Facebook, and it was no big deal. This was the part where I laughed the whole thing off.
“I love horror movies,” I said instead. God knows why. “I have a blog where I review them.”
Tess shook her head in disbelief. “You do?”
