Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
“I didn’t want you to learn about it like this.”
I almost jump out of my skin at his voice, and I whip around to find Matthew standing in the open doorway, his gorgeous face reflecting the shock that I feel. Thief. Cat. Stair Man.
Matthew.
“It was you.” I want to say more, but I was barely able to choke out those words. And, honestly, no more words are necessary.
“I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell?—”
“Oh, the hell you have.” My voice is like acid. “Maybe when I told you about how someone stole it. That seems like it would have been the perfect entree into the I’m a thieving prick conversation.”
He slides his hands into his pockets. “It would have. Yes.”
I point behind me to the safe.
“You stole it. My family’s diadem. The one that was the anchor for our home, our life. I told you what happened when—” My voice breaks, and I take a step back, rapidly blinking away tears. “You stole it,” I repeat, but this time my voice is barely a whisper.
“Yes.”
It’s one word, but it is heavy with pain and guilt. Right now, I really don’t care about his pain. And I want him to wallow in guilt.
I cross my arms and glare. “So why the fuck didn’t you say anything?”
He takes a step toward me, moving slowly with one hand extended, as if he’s trying to befriend a stray kitten. “That’s easy to say, but harder to do.”
“Why?” I snap the word out.
“Why do you think?” I hear the edge of frustration in his voice. “And how would that conversation even go?”
“Maybe it would start with, ‘Aria, I have something to tell you.’ And, oh, maybe we’d have that conversation before you got me into bed.”
He drags his fingers through his hair. “Do you think I don’t regret what I did? Don’t regret staying silent?”
“I haven’t got a clue what you regret, Matthew.” My voice is so brittle it’s a wonder it doesn’t shatter like glass. “I don’t think I know you at all.”
He takes a step toward me, his long stride closing the distance between us. The air seems to shimmer with his proximity, his nearness making it hard for me to think. And harder to revel in my fury.
“Why?” I demand. “Why the fuck did you steal it? Just so you could put it in a safe? So you could own something pretty and keep it hidden in the dark?”
He closes his eyes. When he opens them again, all I see is the calm businessman. This is the Matthew Holt who negotiated himself into the entertainment biz, then pulled himself to the top by his fingernails.
A career that was launched, I realize, by a dangerous leap off a diamond. “Hardline.” My voice is low and heavy with understanding. “You used the diadem to launch Hardline.”
His hands slide back into his pockets, and he moves even closer. He must see the way my eyes narrow, though, because he stops, then leans back against the couch. “The yellow diamond, yes. The diadem I sold to finance my first couple of indie films before I formed the company.”
I stew on that, because something’s not right. “You, what? Pawned them?”
“Sold,” he says, his voice toneless. “Outright. You get a better price that way. The yellow diamond by itself. The diadem with the smaller diamonds intact.”
“You bastard.” My throat feels dry. Cracked. Hell, my entire body feels cracked. As if just the slightest gust of air could shatter me completely. “That diadem is a treasure. A Hollywood legacy. And Vivien Lorainne gave it to my family. To us. You destroyed us,” I shout. “You ripped my family to shreds. We almost had to live on the streets because of you.” The words are pouring out of me, hard and painful. But not one word reflects what’s truly eating me up. Not a single syllable even suggests the true depth of my pain.
“Aria, please. I?—”
“I trusted you,” I whisper, my heart turning to stone. “Back then. You saved me. That monster was going to—” I cut myself off with a shudder, unable to even whisper the vile ways that fucking babysitter’s evil boyfriend would have touched me. Used me. Because hadn’t he been leading up to that every time he came into the house?
I shudder, pushing that from my mind. Thinking only of Matthew. “I trusted you,” I snap. “I trusted you, and you betrayed me.”
My tears are flowing freely now, and I hug myself. I see the pain all over his face, but I don’t care. Hell, I celebrate it. Let him be tortured, too.
“Aria, I didn’t mean to ….” He trails off, his voice thin. Broken. As if I’ve shattered something in him .
Good.
He takes a step forward, but I hold up my hand, allowing him only that one. “I told you about my father,” he begins, speaking softly. “I couldn’t live like that. Small-time thefts and con jobs. I knew what I wanted. And the only useful thing my father ever did for me was give me a solid skillset.”
“Stealing,” I say, scoffing.
He shrugs. “I’m not that man anymore. But the man I was twenty years ago had dreams. You know that. And I made those dreams into reality.”
“That reality —the films, the studio, the backlots, the record labels—it was all built on the broken back of my family’s legacy. So fuck you, Matthew,” I snap. “Fuck. You.”
I snatch up my purse and hurry toward the door, knocking his outstretched arm out of my way. “I’ll come by tomorrow for my stuff. Don’t be here,” I say, then burst out the door and run up the steps to where my car’s parked on the narrow road.
I throw the door open, slide inside, then slam it shut and lock it, just in case he’s coming after me. But he doesn’t. After a moment, he even turns off the porch light.
For some reason, that’s what does me in, and I clench my fists around the steering wheel and sob for what seems like hours. He doesn’t check on me, and I tell myself I’m glad. Nice to know that even after breaking up with the man who may have been the love of my life, I still rank above average at lying to myself.
“Fuck it ,” I say. “And fuck you, Matthew.”
Then I start the car and head down the hill toward the Valley. It’s only when I reach Studio City that the question occurs to me: If he sold the diadem for seed money for his entertainment dynasty, then how can that same diadem be sitting in a safe in his living room?
I groan, realizing the answer.
He stole it back.
The cemetery is quiet, the gravestones lit only by the glow of a full moon that hangs eerily over Los Angeles.
I’d intended to drive to my old house to crash for the night, since I know Bree hasn’t found a new renter. Then tomorrow I’d head back to the treehouse for my stuff once I’m sure he’s at Hardline.
After that … well, maybe I can be Bree’s tenant again.
But I never made it to the house. Instead, my car seemed to magically steer itself toward the cemetery.
Now I kneel on the grave of my friend, my eyes leaky with tears as I trace my fingertip over the words carved deep into the marble stone.
Jennifer Garland.
Beloved Daughter.
Loving Friend.
The air is damp, carrying the faint scent of earth and grass, and a chill seeps into my skin despite my hoodie.
“I miss you,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here in a while. Things have been crazy, you know?” I look up to the heavens, wondering if she does know, and certain that somehow she does. That she’s still with me. Still Jenny, but at the same time something more.
“I know it doesn’t change anything. We always knew—Bree and me, I mean. We knew you didn’t kill yourself. But it’s official now. One of the pricks that Trent hired cut a deal, and he told the cops all about how Trent told him to make it look like suicide.”
I sigh. I’d been so happy when Joel had told me and Matthew that truth. But it was a hollow victory, because Jenny’s still dead.
“Your note helped,” I tell her. “Sorry I didn’t open it right away. I was—well, I was crushing on my boss. On Matthew. And not just crushing. I think—I know —I was in love. But he fucked it all up.
“That’s why I’m here tonight,” I admit. “Because I’m so angry with him, but at the same time, I want him back. And I don’t have anyone to talk to about it, and I miss you so much, and?—”
I break off because the tears are coming with a vengeance now. Tears for Jenny. For all the girls. For me and Matthew, and everything we lost. Everything he destroyed by stealing that damn diadem.
“But I guess he helped you,” I say aloud. “Matthew fucked up big-time with me, but he’s gone all in about the trafficking. He totally owned what Elias Trent did. Didn’t try to sweep it under the rug so that he could save the business.”
I sniffle. “That was really cool of him, you know? I mean, it worked out fine—in fact, the public seems to have really given him kudos. But man … it could have gone the other way. It could have destroyed him.”
My heart squeezes, and I have to press my lips together to hold back more tears. I know how deeply he put Hardline into the line of fire, but I never really understood just how much Hardline was at risk until right now, as I lay it all out for Jenny.
“I miss him already,” I whisper. “Dammit, Jenny. I don’t know what to do. He did this stupid, horrible thing, and I want to hate him for it, but— fuck. ”
I slam a fist into the grass. “I want you here. I want to be able to talk to you.”
“You can talk to me.”
I almost scream. Then I realize the soft voice is coming from behind me, and it’s familiar.
I wipe my cheeks, then turn around, and before I know it, I’m on my feet and launching myself into Bree’s outstretched arms.
“How are you here?”
She shrugs. “You need me, I’m there. That’s our deal, right?”
“Okay, but how did you know?”
She taps her head then points to mine. I cross my arms and stare her down.
“You have got to be kidding me,” she says. “You’re the one who’s all with the karmic energy. Okay, fine ,” she adds when I just keep staring. “Matthew called. He tracked your phone here, and thought it was better if I came than him.” She bites her lower lip, then adds, “He sounds in pretty bad shape.”
“Good.” I sit back on the grass. “Considering what he did, he ought to be.” Except the sting has gone out of my voice. And from the look on Bree’s face, she knows it, too.
She makes a face at the damn grass, then joins me on the ground. “If I have grass stains on my ass, you owe me a new pair of jeans.”
I laugh, and it feels good. “That seems fair. But if I have to buy you a pair of jeans, you have to get dinner.”
She extends her hand. “Deal.” I take it, we shake, and then we burst into laughter.
And, yeah, it feels really good.
She cocks her head. “You hear that?”
“What?”
“Jenny.”
I stay quiet, listening to the rustle in the trees. “She’s laughing with us,” I say.
Bree just snorts. “The hell she is. She’s laughing at us. She’s always thought we were nuts.”
“And she was right.” I reach for her hand. “I love you.”
“I know. Now tell me the rest of it.”
“He stole it,” I say. “Matthew’s The Cat.”
She draws in a deep breath. “I know. He told me.”
I gape at her. “What? When?”
“Just now. I think he figured I needed to know everything. And I really am sorry. But, sweetie, that was a long time ago.”
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
“Well, that’s because you only learned about it five minutes ago. But that doesn’t change the fact. It’s been twenty years. Close to that, anyway. And yeah, he stole it. But he also protected you. He’s the reason those fucking monsters never came near you again.”
I don’t say a word. She’s right.
“And the truth is, I don’t think it was as bad as you thought. The financial stuff, I mean.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just that we were kids. Neither one of us understood about mortgages and stuff. And it’s not like your dad would have really discussed mortgages and interest rates and stuff with you. You just overheard things. Put your own spin on them.”
“So?”
“So, you never lost the house. We grew up right next door to each other, and you were always there. My parents never worried that you might move. You always had food. Your family took some knock-out vacations, too.” She shrugs. “I’m just saying that when your little, a bulldog looks like an elephant, you know?”
I shrug, but I don’t say anything. Because, well, maybe she’s right.
“He still stole it—then sold it. And then he stole it again.”
Her eyes go wide. “Really?”
“Well, he has it now, doesn’t he?”
She shrugs. “Did he tell you that he stole it back?”
I shake my head. She tilts hers.
“So what is the lesson here?”
I scowl because she’s right. I need to talk to him.
I lick my lips, then pull up my knees and hug them. “The thing is … well, the thing is that I want him. I do. I just don’t know how to forgive him.”
“Forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting,” Bree says gently. “It doesn’t mean pretending it didn’t happen. It just means you’re willing to let go of the hurt and move forward. And think about it. He used it to get his career started, sure. But then he got it back—stole it or bought it, he got the diadem back and kept it intact. Mostly, anyway. He said he couldn’t track down the yellow diamond. But that’s not the point,” she continues. “The question is why. Why did he go to all the trouble to get it back?”
“Because it’s one of his treasures,” I say. “Because of Vivien Lorainne.”
“Oh, fuck that. Because of you. ”
I know I should argue, but I don’t. Because I want that to be true. I want it so damn bad. But I’m not ready to admit it. Not to Bree. I can barely admit it to myself.
“Hear me out, okay? The man risked everything to find out what happened to Jenny and the others, and when he learned the truth, he didn’t try to cover it up because it would embarrass his company. He got it back, then kept that diadem like it’s sacred—and that’s because of you, and not some movie star. And,” she adds with a triumphant lilt in her voice, “let’s not forget the night he protected you as a kid. He didn’t have to do that, either, but he did.”
“I know, but …”
“Stop arguing with me. Listen,” she says, “Ash isn’t perfect. Hell, the man’s done things that would make your toes curl—and not in the fun way. But he’s a good man. And a damn good husband. People aren’t one-dimensional. We have flaws, and those flaws don’t erase the good.”
I stare at her, my chest tight with emotion. “You really think Matthew’s a good man?”
She smiles, brushing a stray tear from my cheek. “I do. More important, you think so, too.”
She’s right, and a fresh wave of tears spills down my cheeks. Bree pulls me close again, holding me tight. “Take your time,” she whispers. “But then go talk with him. Don’t let the past rob you of your future.”
We sit there beneath the stars, and I try to dig deep. I try to forgive. But he lied to me from day one. Lied by staying quiet. For not telling me who he was or what he did or even hinting that our lives had intersected.
How do I forgive that?
And even if I find the way, how can I ever trust him again?