“Yes.”
“This is John Johnson with Daily Net—”
“No comment,” Max snapped.
“Wait! A source is reporting that Chloe Turner didn’t confess her true identity to you until your affair became public. Is that true?”
“Jesus, she didn’t ‘confess’ anything.”
“So she never told you who she was?”
“That’s not what—”
“Genevieve Bianca has said publicly that she feels your friendship helped her overcome some big issues in her personal life. Do you think you can help Chloe Turner?”
“That’s ridiculous. Chloe’s fine the way she is. She’s great. I couldn’t help her if I wanted to. And I don’t want to.”
“So—”
Max hung up, then tried Chloe one more time just in case. No answer. It didn’t occur to him until the next morning that he’d royally screwed up.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
AT SEVEN MONDAY MORNING, the sunlight was still weak and pretty, and not quite warm enough to suffocate. Jenn sat in her car at the courthouse, waiting for the day to start and swallow her up. She hadn’t been able to sleep, so she’d gotten up early and driven to Chloe’s place, determined to tell her the truth. No one had opened the door. The one photographer on the scene had snapped a few pictures of her, then told her that Chloe wasn’t there and Max was gone. Maybe they were holed up in a secret hotel room somewhere, or that was what Jenn kept telling herself, anyway.
Though the phone felt too heavy to lift in Jenn’s weary hand, she raised it to her ear and pressed Play for the tenth time that night.
“Jenn? Hi, it’s Elliott. Sullivan. I’ve been thinking about what you said the other night. And I’ve seen the news… If you… It’s none of my business, of course, but I just wanted to tell you that I don’t care what you’ve done. Maybe you haven’t done anything at all. And it’s not that I don’t care. I’m saying that if you need someone to talk to, call me. Maybe I’m not the most comforting guy in the world, but…Anyway. I hope you’re doing okay. Bye.”
The obvious worry in his voice brought tears to her eyes, just as it had the first time she’d heard it six hours earlier.
She’d let this go on too long. She’d wanted to shield Chloe, not give her awful suspicions. And if even Elliott Sullivan suspected that Thomas had been sleeping around and Jenn had something to do with that… Crap. What a terrible mess.
Of course, now that she was ready to tell the truth, Chloe was nowhere to be found.
Jenn started the car, thinking she should drive out to Chloe’s parents’ house and see if she was there, but there were already two satellite television trucks parked in a corner of the courthouse lot, and a third was pulling in from the street. If Jenn left now, she might miss Chloe altogether. What if they were on their way early? She couldn’t risk it.
So Jenn was waiting, feeling distinctly like a prisoner counting down the minutes to her execution. She had no control. Her only hope lay in the hands of Anna, and a last-minute phone call promising a pardon seemed highly unlikely. Anna was determined to resolve everyone’s guilt by exposing the entire sordid affair to the unflinching rays of the sun. Jenn was beginning to hate her.
No, she already hated her.
The sky started its turn from gray to blue, already going bright white at the edges, and Jenn took a deep breath, ignoring the one tear that plopped onto her chest. This was the day she’d lose both of her best friends.
CHLOE SAT AT HER PARENTS’ kitchen table, a mug of coffee cooling in her hand. Her stomach already burned with acid, but she kept sipping anyway, comforted by the normalcy of the act. She was dressed just as she should be, in a somber dove-gray shirt and black skirt, but she couldn’t help thinking that she wanted
to change. She should wear magenta or electric blue, as a slap in the face to Thomas and the press. I’m not brought low by this; I’m still standing.
But the magenta blouse had emphasized the redness of her eyes, and the blue had given her pale face a green tinge. The gray did nothing to flatter her, either, but at least it fit her mood.
A new morning talk show blasted its theme music through the kitchen, and Chloe’s mom glared at the remote control tucked safely in Chloe’s grip.
“You don’t need to see this.”
Chloe shrugged. “I’ve already seen it.”
“So once is enough.”
“I disagree.” The host of the show offered a thorough recap of the month’s worth of Runaway Husband/Chloe the Bridezilla stories. It was thorough but brief—nothing she hadn’t heard before. Then he got to the more current news. “New revelations are expected today, as the Commonwealth of Virginia has announced that additional charges will be filed in the case. There are hints that the charges involve a mystery woman, perhaps even the Bridezilla herself, and will address the questions surrounding the financial aspects of this case. Where did Thomas DeLorn get the money to help him escape his fiancée’s prison of obsessive love?”