Every Last Secret - A.R. Torre Page 0,62

was small, and I tried to guess at its contents. Maybe a watch? I glanced at my own timepiece—a Cartier lookalike that I’d found on Black Friday years ago. I pulled away the thick cream wrapping paper, unveiling a red box.

“Shake it,” she urged. “Guess what it is.”

I obeyed, feeling like a child as something rattled inside. “Um . . .” I tried for something conservative. “A paperweight?”

She let out a delighted trill. “Oh, you’re terrible at this game. Just open it.”

Setting aside the paper, I worked open the lid to reveal a product box, one cradled atop red tissue paper. My thoughts stalled at the image on the front. Not a watch. Definitely not a watch. I glanced up at her. “Is this—”

“Oh my God, you’re going to love it,” she gushed with a furtive look over her shoulder at the men. “We call it the six-minute orgasm.”

“We?” I turned over the box, the small handheld device looking more like a face massager than a pleasure deliverer. “Who’s we?”

“Well, you know.” She took the torn wrapping paper and gift box from me, and I stared at the vibrator, trying to formulate an appropriate response.

By the time I looked up, my mind still blank, she had worked off her first glove and was getting off her second. A flash of sparkle caught my eye, and I grabbed her wrist, taking a closer look at the gigantic ring on her finger. “Wow. That’s new.”

She blushed. “A surprise present. William gave it to me last night.”

I thought of his lack of texts. His guilt. I turned her hand, examining her new wedding ring in the light. The center stone was at least ten carats. Perfectly cut, with a diamond-covered band. “What’d you do with your old ring?”

She shrugged. “I think I’ll get a matching stone and have earrings made.”

Said in the casual and annoying way of a woman with more diamonds than she knew what to do with. Jealousy twisted my gut, and I fought the urge to hide my own ring. It was barely two carats, a size I used to be joyous over—but it was starting to feel smaller and smaller with time.

“It’s beautiful.” I stared at the stone and tried to see the positive—every time I saw it, I could remember what prompted it. His guilt over sex with me. It was a mini trophy in the battle between us. I just couldn’t tell if it had my name on it or hers. Should I be feeling triumphant or defeated?

“He proposed to me when he gave it to me. Asked me if I’d marry him all over again.” She blinked, and I was surprised to see tears beginning to mat the lashes underneath her eyes.

I yanked a napkin off the top of the stack and offered it to her. “Here.” He asked her to marry him? That was a bad sign. I thought quickly, trying to understand his current mindset.

“And I wanted to thank you.” She grabbed my forearm and squeezed it, the action awkward, considering I still held the sex-toy box. “I don’t know what you said to him, but he says he’s ready to adopt.”

“Really?” My heart fell. Maybe she was lying. After what William and I had just done, there was no way he was talking to her about children. Nausea swelled at the thought of her scooping up a running toddler, his face filled with pride.

He’d be a great dad. Hands-on. Loving. Lots of fun. The kids would go to him for anything they wanted, and he’d let them have it all. They’d never know the slur of his voice when he ridiculed them, or the weight of his body, throwing them against a wall.

That wasn’t how that conversation had been meant to go. When I’d brought up adoption last week, it was with the intent of pointing out Cat’s infertility, planting an image in his head of an alternate future he could have with me—carrying his own baby. A true Winthorpe, not some trashy woman’s rejected infant.

Cat sighed. “I have to admit, you’ve done an amazing job—with the team and with him.”

Something wasn’t right about this. Cat was too warm, too accepting, and I didn’t like the sudden jump in support of my work. She’d all but laughed over my job before, and now she was gushing? Was this all because of the ring? Or was it the new possibility of having a family?

Her arms crushed around me, and I added another likelihood—she was