ignore everything that has just happened, because you are drunk on grief,” Alex said harshly. “Thomas, you are not yourself!”
Thomas turned his gaze on Jill, who remained frozen against the door, ignoring his cousin—perhaps not even having heard him. He was livid. “You went after Hal because you are a fortune hunter. And you’re here now for the very same reason.”
Jill was so stunned she could not even react.
“You’re here to get a piece of Hal’s trust. The next thing we know, you’ll be claiming you’re pregnant with his child.”
Jill managed to find the words she so desperately wanted. “You are wrong,” she said. “You are wrong.” She shoved Alex aside and fled the two men.
THREE
J ill felt like a dead person.
She slowly stepped into very skinny, gray stretch pants and a fitted black pullover, feeling as if her body had run out of fuel. Her limbs seemed to be weak and useless. She had just gotten up after a sleepless night. Terrible doubts about her own relationship with Hal had tormented her hour after hour and she had actually watched the sky lightening with the sunrise. She had been haunted by Thomas’s accusations, by the fact that Hal had kept such a monumental secret from her about his battle with drugs and alcohol, and by her own very real worry that Hal had intended to marry Marisa.
Thomas had to be wrong.
But the facts were inescapable.
Jill finished dressing. She had never been more grim—or more glum. Now she understood why Hal’s family hated her. It wasn’t just that she had been driving the car, or that she was a dancer. They all assumed her to be a fortune hunter. It was unbelievable.
Jill had never once in her life met a fortune hunter in the flesh. How dare they think her to be such a conniving piece of trash. But even her anger failed to replace the hurt. It was the most awful of accusations.
Marisa had saved Hal’s life. She, Jill, had ended it.
Had Hal loved Marisa? Or had he loved her, Jill?
Jill sank back down on the bed, her head in her hands, exhausted. Her
mind wouldn’t quit, worse, she felt like crying again. KC was right. She needed drugs. just for a few days, maybe a few weeks.
Until she adjusted to being alone again, until she adjusted to the fact that she would never have the answers she would always seek.
There was a knock on Jill’s door. Jill assumed it was a housemaid and she looked at the clock beside the bed. It was almost noon. Not that she cared. Her system had taken a beating, and although she had been in London for two days now, she had yet to adjust to the time change. Nor did she want to. Jet leg meant she had already lost the morning, and that was fine with her.
Tonight she was going home. She could not wait, even though it meant leaving Hal behind—a vast ocean separating them. Even though it meant she wouldn’t be able to visit his grave for years and years.
She did not know how she felt anymore. A part of her that still believed, hated leaving Hal, would hate being so far away from him. But she could not bear being among the Sheldons anymore. She could not stand up to any more brutal discoveries about Hal’s life—she was afraid to learn that there were more secrets he had kept from her.
Jill grabbed her purse and leather jacket, having just applied a beige-hued lipstick, and answered the door. To her surprise, Lauren stood there, impeccable and elegant in pressed blue jeans, a navy blue Escada blazer, a white button-down shirt, and J.P Tod’s loafers.
“Good morning,” Lauren said, her hands in the pockets of her blazer. She didn’t quite smile, but she wasn’t scowling like the day before yesterday. “When you didn’t come downstairs I thought I should check on you.”
Jill did not relax. “Hoping I died in my sleep?” she said, before she thought the better of it.
Lauren stared. “That’s very unfair.”
“You’re right. But let’s not pretend. You didn’t come upstairs to check on my health.” Jill
Thomas turned his gaze on Jill, who remained frozen against the door, ignoring his cousin—perhaps not even having heard him. He was livid. “You went after Hal because you are a fortune hunter. And you’re here now for the very same reason.”
Jill was so stunned she could not even react.
“You’re here to get a piece of Hal’s trust. The next thing we know, you’ll be claiming you’re pregnant with his child.”
Jill managed to find the words she so desperately wanted. “You are wrong,” she said. “You are wrong.” She shoved Alex aside and fled the two men.
THREE
J ill felt like a dead person.
She slowly stepped into very skinny, gray stretch pants and a fitted black pullover, feeling as if her body had run out of fuel. Her limbs seemed to be weak and useless. She had just gotten up after a sleepless night. Terrible doubts about her own relationship with Hal had tormented her hour after hour and she had actually watched the sky lightening with the sunrise. She had been haunted by Thomas’s accusations, by the fact that Hal had kept such a monumental secret from her about his battle with drugs and alcohol, and by her own very real worry that Hal had intended to marry Marisa.
Thomas had to be wrong.
But the facts were inescapable.
Jill finished dressing. She had never been more grim—or more glum. Now she understood why Hal’s family hated her. It wasn’t just that she had been driving the car, or that she was a dancer. They all assumed her to be a fortune hunter. It was unbelievable.
Jill had never once in her life met a fortune hunter in the flesh. How dare they think her to be such a conniving piece of trash. But even her anger failed to replace the hurt. It was the most awful of accusations.
Marisa had saved Hal’s life. She, Jill, had ended it.
Had Hal loved Marisa? Or had he loved her, Jill?
Jill sank back down on the bed, her head in her hands, exhausted. Her
mind wouldn’t quit, worse, she felt like crying again. KC was right. She needed drugs. just for a few days, maybe a few weeks.
Until she adjusted to being alone again, until she adjusted to the fact that she would never have the answers she would always seek.
There was a knock on Jill’s door. Jill assumed it was a housemaid and she looked at the clock beside the bed. It was almost noon. Not that she cared. Her system had taken a beating, and although she had been in London for two days now, she had yet to adjust to the time change. Nor did she want to. Jet leg meant she had already lost the morning, and that was fine with her.
Tonight she was going home. She could not wait, even though it meant leaving Hal behind—a vast ocean separating them. Even though it meant she wouldn’t be able to visit his grave for years and years.
She did not know how she felt anymore. A part of her that still believed, hated leaving Hal, would hate being so far away from him. But she could not bear being among the Sheldons anymore. She could not stand up to any more brutal discoveries about Hal’s life—she was afraid to learn that there were more secrets he had kept from her.
Jill grabbed her purse and leather jacket, having just applied a beige-hued lipstick, and answered the door. To her surprise, Lauren stood there, impeccable and elegant in pressed blue jeans, a navy blue Escada blazer, a white button-down shirt, and J.P Tod’s loafers.
“Good morning,” Lauren said, her hands in the pockets of her blazer. She didn’t quite smile, but she wasn’t scowling like the day before yesterday. “When you didn’t come downstairs I thought I should check on you.”
Jill did not relax. “Hoping I died in my sleep?” she said, before she thought the better of it.
Lauren stared. “That’s very unfair.”
“You’re right. But let’s not pretend. You didn’t come upstairs to check on my health.” Jill
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