Page 25 of Holden

Damn it. I’m such a fraud.

“It sounds wonderful.”

“At times,” I say, though my voice goes soft with regret. “But I also longed for stability. A place to call home.”

“And your father…?”

I swallow hard, and glance away. “Not in the picture.”

My breath catches, and I pray that Holden won’t press. I can’t answer questions about my father honestly, not without giving up who I am, and I’m so damn tired of lying.

Holden appears to take the hint and shifts to another, perhaps even more complicated question. “What drew you to the subject of your dissertation?”

I take a sip of wine, stalling. “I guess I was looking for a reason…” I pause, not sure how to continue without completely blowing my cover. “An explanation as to why people sometimes do horrible things.”

“That’s simple,” Holden says, his voice suddenly hard. “Some people are just evil.”

I recoil. “Is it that simple?” I fold my hands on my lap, and thread my fingers together to pick at my nails. This kind of debate is far too advanced for first dates—but then I remind myself that this isn’t a date at all—and I don’t subscribe to the notion of pure evil. No matter whose daughter I am. “Consider history.” At this, his eyes lift. “Even some Nazi war criminals were very good and loving fathers,” I say. “Contributing members of their communities.”

Holden bristles. “And that should excuse their crimes?”

My voice rises. “Not excuse, but show a different side of them, maybe. No one is perfect, Holden.”

His jaw tenses. “I refuse to offer forgiveness to someone based on the fact that they show affection to their family,” he says, his voice dangerously low. “Those people are evil. It’s not a debate, Chelsea. It’s fact.”

I blink back tears, stunned by his cool demeanor. How can he be so absolute in this? A response lingers on the tip of my tongue, a defense that will only make sense if I confess my secret. I can’t. Not even if it will help him understand why I have such strong feelings about this topic. Now just isn’t the time.

“I’m afraid I don’t agree with you.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Holden stands and tosses his napkin on the table. “Your hour is up and I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.”

I blink, again shocked by the abrupt shift in conversation. “But we’ve ordered desert.”

“Have them put it in a box and take it home.” Holden shrugs into his jacket and fastens the top button, all business. “If you’ll excuse me…”

I open my mouth to protest, to practically beg him to stay—but Holden is already walking away. And somehow, I think it might be for good this time.

Chapter 13

Chocolate cake tastes almost as delicious in the bathtub as it does in a fancy restaurant. I might even be able to convince myself of that if not for the self-pity I’m using to wash it down. I pop the last bite of dessert in my mouth, and stretch out so that my head ducks under the water. Heat is a decent nursemaid for my wounded pride.

A knock at the apartment door startles me upright. I call out for Lindsay, and then remember she isn’t home. “Go away,” I moan.

The banging grows louder, more urgent.

“No one’s home,” I yell, with a little force. After a botched dinner with Holden, company is the last thing I need.

But whoever is at the door isn’t taking the hint, which makes me think it might be Lindsay, haven forgotten her key—again. Either that or one of her rejected boys is waiting for some kind of explanation. Could be Sam wasn’t thrilled about being kicked to the curb.

Join the club.

More knocking.

Okay, dude isn’t giving up. Fine.

“Give me a second!” I climb out of the tub, shake free of the bubbles, and wrap myself in a robe, not even bothering to towel off. The hall is dark, so I flick on the light and turn down Law and Order. “I swear, Lindsay, if you forgot your key…”

I fling open the door and freeze.