Page 169 of Say Yes to the Death

“And one other thing.” Jason nudged Wendy.

“Right,” she said. “I’m dropping the lawsuit.”

Claire blinked. “You’re what?”

“Yeah, I called the mediator this morning. It’s over. It was stupid in the first place.”

The crushing weight of potential financial ruin that had stubbornly clung to Claire’s back for the past six months lifted. “Thank you,” she said and gripped the bar cart for strength. “I appreciate it. Well, thank you for stopping by. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, yeah. We’ll, uh, see you later,” Jason said, grabbing Wendy’s elbow and half-dragging her toward the door.

“Bye, Claire.”

“Bye,” Claire said, waving at the woman who had tried to ruin her personal and professional life more times than she could count.

Wendy and Jason paused just outside the door and appeared to be arguing again. Jason looked at his phone and shrugged animatedly.

Oh no. Don’t do it, you idiot. Cursing herself, Claire opened the door again.

“Do you guys want to stay for dinner?” With any luck, they would create such rampant chaos that Rachel wouldn’t be able to find anything about Claire’s dinner to complain about.

“We would love to.” Wendy dragged Jason back into the house.

“You can follow me,” Claire said as she pushed the cart back to the ballroom.

“Luke, can you set two more places at the table?”

The next morning, Claire awoke feeling fantastic despite the absurd amount of carbs she had scarfed the night before. She hadn’t sleepwalked since moving in with Luke the previous month. She quickly showered, applied makeup, and found a dress that wasn’t covered in dog hair.

She tiptoed downstairs, stopping in the small room across from Luke’s office that she had decided to claim as her own. She opened her laptop and pressed send on the email draft she had agonized over for the past month.

Then she went into Luke’s office and found a ring light, boom microphone, and an expensive-looking camera. She arranged them as best as she could and dragged a bar stool into the middle of the living room.

There were footsteps on the stairs. “What the hell are you doing?” Luke asked, wiping the sleep from his eyes as he entered the living room. “It’s like seven a.m.”

“I’ll tell you what I’m doing. I’m making big changes. I emailed a business consultant on how to expand my business in the United States and maybe break into the international market for proposals in Europe. Maybe.”

He stopped mid-step and blinked. “You did? I thought you said you weren’t ready.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, there may be something to this whole therapy thing after all.” Claire smoothed a strand of hair back into her bun. She had been seeing Sawyer’s mother, Dr. Goulding, for the past three months.

“Okay, but you said?—”

“And—sorry, I know we’re working on our communication. But this is important. I’m ready for you to interview me,” she said, gesturing to the camera. “It’s time to put this behind me.”

“Claire, I don’t want to interview you. I don’t want you to have to relive that, ever.”

“Shut up and get behind the camera,” she said. “I love you, and I want to do this for you. I know it’ll make every difference in your documentary. I’m ready. And, you know, it might help to talk about it,” she said, parroting his words back at him.

“What did you say?” He was smiling.

“It might help to talk about it,” she mocked again.

“No, the other part.”

“Oh. I love you,” she said, butterflies in her stomach the same as the day they had met. The words had been on the tip of her tongue since Luke had said it in the hospital parking lot, and she had been planning on saying them for the first time in a dramatic way, possibly with fireworks or a musical group or at the very least a cheese fountain. And now they had tumbled out without her even realizing.

“You admitted it now, you can’t take it back,” he said with a laugh, drawing her into him. His kiss was passionate, tender, and it filled her to the brim with liquid light.

“Never,” she said, looking into the eyes of the man who had changed her life. They were calm this morning, more sea than storm. Sure, he drove her crazy seventy percent of the time. And he was sort of responsible for her plunging into the Seine River. And he had lied to her about a number of important things. But they had grown a lot in the past four months, both as a couple and as individuals. Luke had vowed to tell her the truth even if it was scary or uncomfortable, and Claire had kept her promise to never again hide from him any knowledge about murderous cults.

He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a binder. “Are you ready?”

“I am,” Claire said. And for the first time, she meant it.