The Lying Game Complete Collection - Sara Shepard Page 0,195

a speed bump and pulled into the resort parking lot. A little grotto with the name ARTURO’S etched in a boulder was lit up with Christmas lights. Outside the front entrance, a man in a business suit with a briefcase talked on his BlackBerry. A woman stood next to him, fussing with her blonde hair. Two waiters dressed in dark pants and crisp white button-downs took a smoke break next to a spindly cactus.

Emma followed Sutton’s family along stone steps that wove through a garden spotted with tiny yellow and violet flowers. Inside, thick, dark wood framed the windows in the adobe walls. Exposed beams hung overhead, and soft classical music floated from miniature speakers. The room was full of people, and waiters swirled with plates full of beautiful-looking racks of lamb, strip steaks, and lobster.

A maître d’ with a pencil mustache and a dark gray suit checked their reservation, and then led them to their table. As they walked through the room, Emma stood up a little straighter, feeling out of place.

“This is lovely,” Mrs. Mercer cooed as they sat, picking up a thick piece of cardboard and perusing the wines listed. “Isn’t it, girls?”

Emma murmured in assent. But Laurel’s gaze was on something—someone—across the room. “I think you’re going to have a visitor, Sutton,” she said nastily.

Emma looked up just in time to see a guy with an angular jaw and short blond hair advancing toward their table. Her stomach flipped uncomfortably. It was Garrett, Sutton’s ex. And he didn’t look happy.

“Hello, Garrett!” Mrs. Mercer said, her mouth wobbling, sending a worried glance at Emma. Emma shifted in her seat. She’d told Sutton’s dad that she and Garrett were no longer an item, and no doubt he’d told her mom. What they didn’t know was that he’d accosted her in the supply room at Homecoming on Friday. In fact, he’d been a little … violent.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Mercer.” Garrett nodded politely at Sutton’s parents. Then he turned to Emma. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” He slid his eyes toward a little hallway at the back of the restaurant. Clearly he meant alone.

“Um, I’m here with my family,” Emma said, scooting a little closer to Sutton’s mom. “We were about to order.”

“I just have a quick question,” Garrett said. His voice was pleasant enough, but his eyes were cold and calculating. All at once, Emma knew what this was about: He’d no doubt heard that Thayer had broken into Sutton’s bedroom. Garrett had been shocked that Emma had dumped him, and he was convinced that she had been cheating on him. No doubt he was going to accuse Emma of seeing Thayer behind his back—and maybe Sutton had been.

I took in Garrett’s Abercrombie button-down and khaki pants, feeling a vague flicker of the fun times we’d spent together hiking, going for long bike rides, and having picnics in the park. I was sure there had been some point where I’d been thrilled that he was my boyfriend. But what had happened that made me choose Thayer instead? I thought again about the memory that had come back to me, the push-and-pull of guilt I felt for cheating on Garrett and the thrill of kissing Thayer. Garrett was right about me: I was a cheater. He had every right to be mad.

“I’m sorry,” Emma said. “But I just sat down.”

“Okay, I can ask you here if you’d prefer,” Garrett said challengingly, placing his hands on his hips. He glanced at the Mercer parents. “I just wanted to see how your visit to the police station went yesterday, Sutton.”

Emma bristled. How did he know that? The Mercers stiffened. “You were at the police station?” Mrs. Mercer blurted. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Garrett faked a look of surprise. “Oh!” he said. “I figured you would have said something. I’ll leave you guys alone.” Then he backed away, returning to his parents’ table in the corner.

Emma faced Sutton’s parents, feeling her cheeks flush. She’d kind of hoped that they wouldn’t find out about her little trip to see Quinlan.

“Were you in trouble again?” Mrs. Mercer asked, looking heartbroken, no doubt thinking about how she’d visited the police station to reprimand her daughter for shoplifting the week before.

“I bet she was there to see Thayer,” Laurel said, her voice dripping with hatred.

“I wasn’t in trouble,” Emma said, her voice rising. “And I wasn’t there to see Thayer, either. I only went because Quinlan called me in. I didn’t want to