Lost in Me, Page 40

  ***

  Maggie’s wedding dress fits like it was made for me.

  “Oh, Han-Han,” Lizzy breathes. “It’s perfect.”

  The A-line bodice accentuates my breasts while making my waist look small, and the basic bridal satin is covered with the most delicate organza I’ve ever touched. The satin bodice is heart-shaped, with only the organza continuing over my shoulders in wide, sheer straps.

  “Do you want us to stay or do you want to be alone?” Maggie asks as I look at myself in the mirror. “Think about it for a little bit?”

  I watch my reflection as I turn side to side. I’ve never felt so beautiful in my life as I do in this dress. So why does the idea of wearing it in three weeks make me want to weep?

  “Can I have a few minutes?”

  She nods and ushers Lizzy out of the room with her.

  The bedroom has French doors that lead out onto a balcony overlooking the river. I unlock them and pull them open. Desperate for fresh air, I lift my skirt and step out onto the balcony.

  I close my eyes as the breeze brushes through my hair. I concentrate on my breathing.

  Everything is good. Everything is okay.

  My mind scrambles through reassurances, but only one calms me—I don’t have to go through with this. If, in a couple weeks, the idea of marriage still panics me, Max would understand. Wouldn’t he? Or would I lose him for good? And what would my mom think? She’d be so embarrassed to have another daughter with another botched wedding. Maybe the Thompson girls are cursed.

  “Hanna?”

  I turn toward the voice to find myself face to face with Nate Crane.

  His eyes take me in inch by inch, like he’s drinking in what he sees. Me. The dress.

  “What are you doing here?” After last night’s memory, I’m simultaneously more drawn to him than ever and more wary of being near him. Stepping toward him is as instinctive as breathing, but I catch myself and stop. I clench my hands into fists at my sides. I want to smooth over the hurt between his eyes, to touch his cheek and feel the heat of his skin under my fingertips.

  “You look…” His dark eyes scan over me again. “God, you’re so beautiful it hurts.”

  Birds chirp happily and the sun warms my skin, and I hate myself for wishing I could be seeing him somewhere else. That I could be someone else.

  “You probably shouldn’t be saying things like that to me.”

  He must hear it, that brokenness in my voice, and he must care something for me, because he lets out this long, shaky breath, as if he’s as fucked up over all this as I am. “You’re really going to marry him.” It’s not a question. More like resignation.

  I look down to my ring and remember Lizzy’s question. “Does it bother you not knowing what made you choose Max?”

  Nate turns to the river and squeezes the balcony rail until his knuckles go white. “When you told me you had amnesia, I wanted to believe he tricked you into taking that ring.”

  “Max wouldn’t do that.”

  Nate cuts his gaze to me. There’s something in his eyes—a secret locked away—but he doesn’t disagree. “For the record, I knew this was how it would end. We both did. It’s the amnesia that fucks it all up. Makes this harder than it needs to be.”

  “Max is perfect for me.” I say the words because I don’t know what else to say. I need to remind myself that I can’t have this man take me into his arms, no matter how desperately I want him to. Not when I chose Max. “And I’m going to tell him the truth. I’m going to tell him that I cheated on him.”

  His face shifts, that sadness and resignation tightening, hardening into anger. “You didn’t cheat on Max.” He drags a hand through his hair, looking like he wants to throw something. “Jesus. Is that what he made you think?”

  “He didn’t have to. I remember.”

  He draws in breath in a sharp hiss. “Everything?”

  “Bits. Pieces. Enough to know I was unfaithful.”

  His jaw ticks, and I can tell he’s fighting some kind of internal struggle. Then, as if he can’t handle looking at me anymore, he tears his gaze away. “You weren’t unfaithful. Not at all. The night you met me—”

  “Three months ago. In St. Louis,” I supply.

  “You remember?” The question is cautiously whispered, but I can’t tell if he hopes I do or don’t.

  I shake my head. “Maggie told me.”

  “You’d just broken up with Max that night. Come on, Hanna. Use that amazing brain of yours. You aren’t the kind of girl who would date one guy and mess around with another. You wouldn’t have ever gone out with me that night if you and Max hadn’t broken up.”

  “A breakup?” I almost laugh. “You don’t understand small towns. If that were true, everyone would have known.”

  “But you two didn’t want anyone to know. Your mom was helping him get that grant so his business could stay afloat, and you knew she’d stop if you two weren’t dating anymore. Things had gotten bad for him—he sold his fucking house, for Christ’s sake.”

  I don’t like the logic of those words—the way they dig into my skin and crawl like a hundred parasites.

  “You didn’t cheat,” Nate repeats. “Tell him whatever you want about us, but you weren’t unfaithful.”

  “If we broke up, why wouldn’t he have told me?”

  “Maybe because he doesn’t want you to remember that he broke your heart.”

  No. “He didn’t break anything. He loves me. He’s good to me. Better than I deserve.”

  He backs away. One step. Two. The invisible cords connecting us stretch and groan with every inch.

  The feeling scares me so much, I lash out. “If you really love me, you’ll do something for me.”

  He laughs, an empty, hollow sound. “You want a favor now?”

  “I want you to leave town.” It’s not a fair request. He hasn’t done anything to make me think he’s going to disrupt my picture-perfect life. But I fear I’ll do something disastrous if I keep running into him. “I want you out of my life.” I pray that saying the words might make them true. They’re the right words to say—I know that—but they hurt, like someone taking a dull blade to an exposed wound.

  “As you wish, angel.”

  Angel. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

  Silence pulses between us for a beat. A living thing. “Because you saved me.”

  Then I don’t have to walk away. He leaves before I can process his words. And I’m grateful. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to walk away from Nate Crane while knowing I’ll never see him again.