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“That’s one short-lived romance with one long-term consequence.”
“You’re telling me.”
“Does your family know? Anyone else?”
“A few friends,” Penny said. “That’s it. My family doesn’t know. I didn’t know how to tell them.”
“We can tell them together.”
“What are you talking about?”
Ryan steeled his face. “Roman might have been an asshole, but that doesn’t mean we all are. If there’s a chance this baby is mine…”
“I don’t know if it is,” she reiterated. “I would have to do a paternity test to know for certain. That’s so embarrassing. I never thought I’d be the type of girl to have to say those words.”
To her surprise, Ryan leaned forward and grasped her hands. He looked into her eyes. “Penny, you’re the type of girl I haven’t stopped thinking about for months. We can try this again, the right way this time.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We went on three dates.”
“Sometimes, you just know.”
“And sometimes, you don’t know,” Penny said firmly. “What if this turns out to be Roman’s child?”
Something flashed through Ryan’s eyes. “I don’t need to know for sure. The chance that it’s mine is enough.”
“That’s crazy.”
Before Ryan could respond, Penny hunched forward and gripped the table hard. Ryan’s eyes narrowed in concern.
“Oh shit,” she said. “My water just broke.”
THIRTY-NINE
Four Months After
June 2019
Eliza waited in the same small, concrete room where she’d waited several times before. She’d met with Anne, with Penny, with her lawyers. Her routine was comforting, which was somewhat alarming, considering she was still in prison.
Marguerite’s voice rang quietly through the room. “Eliza?”
Glancing up, Eliza noted the bestselling author looked preened and professional. No more wild hair and wilder accessories. She wore simple black slacks topped by a crisp, white shirt. Her hair had been tamed into a sleek bun.
Eliza smiled across the table, which had the funny side effect of making the author cringe. Finally, Eliza Tate knew the rules of the game.
“Hey,” Marguerite said softly. “How are you?”
Eliza stared directly into Marguerite’s eyes. The funny thing about being arrested for murder was that nothing really scared her anymore.
Marguerite’s eyes flashed as she looked wildly around the room, scanning to see if someone was listening. Maybe they were. Eliza couldn’t be sure. She didn’t care.
“You’ve always been a sucker for a good publicity stunt,” Eliza said. “Getting me arrested for my husband’s murder is your best yet, I’ll admit.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Coming forward after Roman’s death, laying out the pieces of the puzzle for the police—it was a good PR move, I’ll give you that. Get ahead of the rumors. Start playing Marguerite the victim. It’s probably what I would have told you to do.”
“I was just telling the truth.”
