Hush Hush #2 (10 page)

Liam blinks. “Vicksburg Street, you said?”

Am I imagining it, or is there a glimmer of surprise in Liam’s blue eyes? But the emotion, whatever it is, lasts only a moment before he returns to his standard stoic expression.

“Have you heard about it?” I ask.

“I think I heard something about a fire on the news, but I didn’t realize it was in Lakeview,” he says. He brings his glass to his lips and speaks into it, almost more to himself than to me. “Interesting.”

“Why is it interesting?” I press.

He just shrugs.

Come on,
I beg silently.
Give me more than that, Liam.

I press on. “They’re saying it was arson.”

This is a lie, of course. The full investigation on the fire hasn’t been publicly released yet; in fact, I don’t know if it’s even been completed. But judging from the way Liam’s eyebrows shoot into the air, he seems to believe me.

“If that’s the case, then whoever did it was very sloppy,” he says. “You don’t hear about many arson cases in this city. That’s bound to attract some attention.”

Liam’s poker face has faded completely. His back is rigid, and his arms bristle with tension. His body is taut, like a rubber band stretched to the breaking point. Ready to snap.

As I study him, the realization washes over me like a crashing wave, followed by an unexpected feeling of relief. Liam seems legitimately shocked by the news, which can only mean one thing: he didn’t have anything to do with the fire. But it’s clear from the look on his face that he knows exactly who’s responsible.

And now, so do I.

My mouth opens softly, eager to ask him more, to entice him to incriminate his parents.

But before the words have the opportunity to leave my lips, the empty chair beside me scrapes outward suddenly.

“Excuse me,” asks a woman in a syrupy-sweet tone. “But is this seat taken?”

My jaw nearly drops. I know that voice. I’ve spent the last fourteen years with that voice.
 

I crane my neck toward the dark-haired woman, with her cherry-red dress and lips to match, as she takes a seat at our table. Her cheeks dimple as she beams at us both.

My cousin. My co-conspirator.

Miranda.

10

“Sophia, it is
such
a surprise to see you here!” Miranda says, leaning over to throw her arms around me in a rib-cracking hug. As we embrace, she presses her lips into my ear and whispers urgently: “Try not to look
so
shocked, or he’s not going to buy this.”

Liam is staring at us both when we break apart. His eyebrows flick upward. “And
you
are?”

“Carol. Carol Guyette,” Miranda says easily. “Sophia and I were good friends in college, though I haven’t seen her in years. And I had
no
idea she was in town! I was just finishing up dinner with some girlfriends of mine, and I was about to leave when I happened to look back and see you.”

She turns and waggles her fingers at two random women heading toward the exit. Their backs are turned to us, so they’re unable to give any indication that they don’t, in fact, actually have a clue who Miranda is.

“Anyway, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mister…?” Miranda says, thrusting out her hand.

“William Hawthorne,” Liam says, shaking her hand politely. “But most people call me Liam.”

“Liam. I like it,” says Miranda.
 

I do a double take. Am I imagining things, or is Miranda batting her eyelashes at him?

The waiter appears behind us. He glances at Miranda.
 

“Will you be joining for dinner? Shall I set a place for you, ma’am?” he says.

“Oh, I won’t be eating,” Miranda says, “but I’d love a glass of wine. And you know what—may as well bring my friends some fresh glasses. It looks like they’re running low.”

The waiter nods and leaves. I glance down at my glass, and then Liam’s. They’re both half-full—hardly low enough to warrant a second glass.
 

What’s her angle?
I wonder, shifting uncomfortably.

I really wish she had given me some warning that she would be showing up in person. Though in retrospect, I understand why she didn’t. Because I would have told her not to come. Because she was right—I
don’t
like this.
 

I can hardly manage to keep still in my seat. My eyes keep darting between the two of them nervously. Liam is staring at her with an expression of unmistakable intrigue.
 

Typical
, I think. Whenever Miranda is around, I feel like I may as well fade into the wallpaper. It’s always been that way, especially when there are boys around. As hard as Miranda may try to flatter me by calling me a “babe,” there’s no denying the fact that she’s the stunner in the family. Add in her effortless confidence, and it’s no contest.

“So what do you do, Liam?” she prompts as the waiter returns to the table with three glasses of wine.
 

“I run a venture firm,” he says, tilting back his first glass of wine and finishing it off quickly. He offers the empty glass to the waiter. His hand finds the second glass.

“Really? I never would have guessed it. You seem completely different than all the investment guys I know.”

“And what are they like?” Liam says, sounding amused.

“Stuffy,” Miranda declares. “Boring. I can already tell that you’re nothing like that. You seem way too suave to be an ordinary venture capitalist.”

You’re laying it on too thick, Miranda,
I scoff silently.
You don’t know Liam like I do. No way is he ever going to buy that.

But to my astonishment, Liam laughs.
 

“You hang out with a lot of investors, do you?” he says.

“Sometimes.” She flashes him a grin. “I happened to be in Curaçao last year during some kind of venture capitalist retreat. I have to tell you—I have never seen so many tie clips in my life. And I could have
sworn
the air smelled like pomade when they were around.”

Liam chuckles. With a devious smile playing across her lips, Miranda leans forward and not-so-subtly shows off her cleavage. She tosses her long hair over one shoulder.

“But let me tell you, with the exception of all the suits, Curaçao was
marvelous
. All those pastel-colored colonial buildings lining the harbor, it feels like you’re in some kind of fairy tale. Have you ever been?”

I stare at Miranda in disbelief. Has
she
even been
to Curaçao? As far as I know, she’s barely left the continental states.

“No,” Liam says, shaking his head. But then he pauses. “No, that’s not true. I
have
been there once, but I never left the tarmac. We stopped at the airport for an emergency refuel of the jet.”

“You have a jet?” I ask Liam, surprised.

“Two, actually.”

Miranda’s eyes are as wide and round as dollar coins. A greedy smile spreads across her face. I already know it well—it’s the look she gets when she’s fully committed to a scheme.

And when that happens, there’s no stopping her.
 

The waiter returns with a silver tray balanced on the tips of his fingers. As he lightly puts down the plates of crab beignets and fire-roasted oysters, Miranda taps him on the shoulder.

“One more round of wine for Mr. Hawthorne and me, when you have a moment,” she says sweetly.

She continues chatting Liam up throughout the rest of the meal, leaning over to touch his shoulder at every possible opportunity. Liam’s smile turns increasingly lazy as he finishes his third glass of wine, and then his fourth, his inhibitions loosening.
 

I pick at my food and watch them bitterly. Miranda’s new, mysterious plan has become crystal clear. She wants to wedge herself between me and Liam, and pick up right where I left off. Become his new plaything. Earn his confidence.
 

And
she’s
got the benefit of a clean slate—she hasn’t made a terrible first impression on Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne like I have. If she plays her cards right, they might actually trust her. This plan might actually work.

So why, then, do I feel so crappy? Why does it make me feel sick to my stomach, to watch Liam smile at her and laugh at her jokes? He glances at me every so often, and I flash him a tight-lipped grin as if I, too, am having the time of my life here in this restaurant. As if a heavy rock hasn’t just dropped into the pit of my stomach.

When the check comes, Liam and Miranda’s arms both shoot out to receive it. Their hands bump clumsily together.

“Oops, sorry,” Miranda giggles, slurring her words.
 

I raise an eyebrow. Is she really drunk, or is this an act?
 

“Let me pay. You didn’t even eat,” says Liam.
 

He reaches into his pocket for his wallet. When he flips it open, I can’t help but notice how Miranda is hungrily eyeing the gold and silver cards inside. She catches me watching her and gives me a quick grin. He slips a card into the leather check book and hands it to the waiter.
 

“That’s very generous of you, thank you,” says Miranda. “And thank you for a marvelous evening. What a happy coincidence, running into you both.”
 

The waiter returns with the check book a moment later. We rise from the table and begin to gather our things.

“Sophia, I’d love to take you for a coffee to catch up, just you and me. It’s been ages,” Miranda says, putting a hand on my arm. “We can go to Cafe Du Monde. If you don’t have any plans, of course.”

I glance over at Liam. We
had
plans, but I’m not sure where they stand now. Liam was going to—what was it that he said? Stretch me as far as I could go? My thighs clench in anticipation at the thought.

But what Liam says next makes my heart sink.

“Go with your friend. Enjoy yourselves, don’t let me interrupt,” he says, knocking back the rest of his glass of wine. He gives me a wink, as if he’s indulging a little request of mine.
 

Miranda’s fingers wrap around my warm. Her grip is tight as she begins to steer me towards the entrance.

“Thank you again, Mr. Hawthorne,” she calls over her shoulder. “I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.”
 

“You could’ve given me a head’s up, you know,” I say angrily as we burst into her hotel room. Compared to my dinky, beige-walled room, Miranda’s suite is a palace: there is a four-poster bed, a claw-footed chaise lounge, and a tinkling glass chandelier.

“What? And miss that look on your face when I showed up to your table?” says Miranda, dropping her purse onto the lacquered entrance table. She turns and gives me a grin. “I needed you to be surprised when I showed up. Sophia and Carol haven’t seen each other in years, remember?”

“I could’ve pretended to be surprised,” I insist. “My acting chops aren’t
that
terrible, you know.”

Miranda responds to this with a snort.

I sink slowly on the chaise and stare despondently at the rug. The pattern is intricate: a swirl of roses, thorns, and twisting vines in shades of scarlet. Miranda always
did
like to travel in style. At least she’ll be comfortable in this room; she’ll probably stay here for a while. Longer than me, anyway.

I wonder what she’ll say when Liam unlocks his room for her for the first time. When he puts his hand around her wrist and slips it into a leather restraint. The thought makes my stomach turn.

“I hope you don’t mind taking orders,” I mumble. “Particularly when your clothes are off. He’s got a wild appetite, you know.”

Miranda grins.

“Yes, I remember you mentioned something about that,” she says. “I’ve never tried it myself, but I admit I’m intrigued.”

She turns to scrutinize herself in the mirror. She plucks a tissue from a nearby box and carefully dabs at her lips, removing her cherry red lipstick.

“But it’s a moot point. It’s not going to work anyway,” she says heavily. She bares her teeth in the mirror, turning her head this way and that, checking for red smudges.

My head jerks up. “Why’s that?”

“Because he hardly paid attention to me.”

I blink, certain that I’ve somehow misheard her.

“Were we even sitting at the same table?” I say. “Which Liam were
you
talking to? From my vantage point, he didn’t stop talking to you through the entire meal.”

“Yes, but he couldn’t stop looking at
you
,” Miranda says. She walks over and plops down onto the chaise lounge beside me. “April, he’s obviously crazy about you. There’s no way he’ll consider dating me, not with you around.”

“
Crazy?
Let’s not exaggerate here…” I say feebly. But inside my chest, my heart is thumping wildly. I’ve spent so much time watching Liam—keeping an eye on his every flickering smile and every twitch of his jaw, as though they might somehow reveal the truth of his family’s crimes—but I’ve never actually paused to notice how he thought of
me.

Could that really be true? Can he really have feelings for me? A current of excitement slicks down my spine, tickling my skin. I have to press my lips together to keep from grinning.

“Oh my God.” Miranda’s voice is like a blade, slicing through my thoughts.

“What?” I say, quickly looking over at her. “What is it?”

Miranda is staring at me with wide eyes and a thunderstruck expression. Her hand covers her open mouth.

“You like him too, don’t you?” she says through her fingers.

She may as well have just pulled the chaise out from beneath me. I draw in an involuntary gasp of air.

I have feelings for Liam, sure, I’ll admit it. But they’re strictly physical. My body takes on a life of its own when I’m around him.

But do I
like
him?

“What are you talking about? You’re crazy,” I say. But the words come a little too quickly and too loudly to be believable.

Miranda shoves herself off the chaise in a huff. She paces to the door and then back again, her stilettos
click-clacking
beneath her.

“I can’t believe this,” she says bitterly. “No wonder you wanted me to find an alternate plan for you. There I was, thinking you were just chickening out, but no—you didn’t want to break your poor little Liam’s heart.” Her voice begins to take on a harsh, mocking quality. “Suddenly he’s more important to you than your parents, than the vengeance you’ve been talking about for the last
three years.
”