It was her birthday. Her real birthday. Emily Webster’s birthday. July 7. It was also Nathan Bishop’s birthday. Emma could remember their parents laughing about the coincidence—five years to the day apart—and she could remember the double cakes. Nathan’s was chocolate, hers was pink, and they would all celebrate on the beach in Nantucket. Her father would start the singing and the rest of the group would join in. Nathan made it all about Emily, mostly because she was a spoiled little girl, but also because it was his natural tendency to fly under the radar. He never liked attention about his birthday, and not much had changed, apparently, because as she walked up to his office, there was no indication that this was anything other than a normal day. Her contact lenses were gone, and her violet eyes sparkled with anticipation. Wearing a jade silk slip dress and paillette splash pumps, she had carefully wrapped a small box containing a chocolate cupcake and a pink cupcake from Magnolia Bakery. In another box, she’d put his present, the present that would tell him everything.
She had been playing on the front lawn with one of Mariella’s dishcloths stuck to her head with bobby pins and a fistful of violets in her hand when he’d walked down his drive, hauling a bulging backpack. She had chased after him.
“Nave, come marry me!”
“I can’t today, Em-em, I’m heading back to school again.”
Her eyes grew glassy. “But it’s summer.”
“Hey, hey, hey. I’m coming back in a few weeks for the long weekend.”
I’ll be back for our birthday. I’ll bring you a present.”
“Will you have time to marry me when you get back?” She fiddled with the violets in her hand.
“You bet, Em-em. I will come back, and I will marry you. Sound good?”
“Okay. When?”
He thought for a minute, then reached to his wrist and unhooked a black rubber sports watch. He held it open and Emily extended her arm. It was huge but there were holes punched all the way to the bezel, so he strapped it on.
“See the little window on the face? There’s the date.”
He did a quick calculation in his head.
“In twenty-three days, I will be back. I will bring you an awesome present for our birthday, and we can get married. Again.”
“Okay.”
She stared at the watch and waved to him without looking up.
“Bye, Em-em.”
“Bye, Nave.”
She was taken four days later. She had spent her ninth—and Nathan’s fourteenth—birthday in captivity. The watch stayed on her wrist the entire time. As she wrapped it this morning, she felt a tremor of anxiety, but it was quickly replaced by the image of Nathan opening the box and realizing....
She pushed open his office door with a beaming smile and was met with a stony stare that knocked the joy right off her face. Nathan looked at her, but it wasn’t Nathan. It was a cold, empty man with barely contained rage flowing through him.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, birthday surprises forgotten.
“Who are you?”
“What?”
“Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?”
He’d found out. She shouldn’t have been surprised. This was a guy who uncovered secrets for a living. He clearly didn’t have the whole truth, but he had part of it. And having a partial truth was a dangerous thing.
“Nathan, I can explain.”
“I’ve spent the last three hours running through our conversations in my head. What I’ve told you, what I let slip, who you could have told...”
“Nathan, no, it’s not like that.”
“Really? What’s it like then? Because Emma Porter didn’t exist until fourteen years ago. Emma Porter’s birth certificate in Georgia is a very good fake. Emma Porter’s childhood home was purchased through a shell corporation.”
“Nathan, please, just let me tell you the truth.”