Looking at him now, I doubt it.
“You’re not interrupting,” Katrina replies. “We’re not writing right now. You remember Harriet?” She gestures to the literal human being I’m pretty sure Chris didn’t even notice. “She’s helping us prep for the interview.”
Chris glances at Harriet. While his smile stays fixed, I doubt I’m the only one who notices how fake it is. “Harriet, of course.” He pauses. “I hear you’re teaching now?” The judgment in his voice is unmistakable. It doesn’t surprise me to know Chris is the kind of guy who considers education to be “flunking out” of publishing.
Harriet plasters on an equally fake smile. “I am.”
“That’s terrific. Fantastic,” he says with ridiculous enthusiasm.
“I hear you got a Peloton,” Harriet says.
Chris’s eyes narrow. This is why I love Harriet. Instead of letting him stoke his sense of professional superiority, she’s left him struggling to work out exactly how he’s been insulted. Which is why I can’t help myself—I laugh.
His eyes fall on me now. He’s dropped every pretense of pleasantry. “Nathan. Great to see you again. How have you been?”
I hold the ugly gaze peering out of his handsome face. “Terrific,” I say. “Fantastic. You?”
He walks over to sit on the arm of Katrina’s chair, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Couldn’t be better. Please”—he waves into the room—“continue.”
Is he serious? I can’t continue this pretend interview with Chris fucking watching. Katrina, who’s shrunk in her seat, undoubtedly feels similarly. She looks up, imploring. “You don’t want to go up to our room?” she asks him. The reminder they’ll share a bed tonight makes me clench my jaw.
“I want to see some of this first,” Chris replies firmly.
Either he doesn’t notice how his response upsets Katrina, or, likelier, he doesn’t care. She faces Harriet, looking frayed. “What was the question?” she forces out.
“The book you’re writing now,” Harriet prompts, uncharacteristically gentle. She knows there’s something unpleasant going on here.
“It’s about divorce,” I cut in. “Katrina and I have respectively had our fair share of romantic ups and downs.” I fire Chris a pointed glance, finding his lips curled in a cold smirk. “We wanted to get personal, delve into some of our experiences in separation and the end of love.”
Katrina lets out a featherweight laugh. “It’s not that negative. It’s a love story.”
“Of course,” I rejoin. “Which is what we’re working on now. Finding the love.” I let my words hang. “In the story,” I add.
Harriet nods, her expression starting to show strain. “And why,” she asks reluctantly, “did you return to writing together?”
I preempt Katrina. “Well, Kat did, because her agent—who happens to be her fiancé—forced her to.”
Katrina’s head whips to me. “Nathan!”
I glare at her. She told me to speak my feelings. Well, here they are. Let’s fucking speak them.
“Okay, that’s enough for me. I’m going to go,” Harriet says, understandably not wanting to witness whatever happens next.
It’s a wise decision. It’s silent while she slips out the front door. “Sorry,” I say. “Although, really, I’m not.” I address Chris. “Maybe you want to comment? You’ll be in the interview, right? Supervising? Why don’t you handle those questions?”
Chris’s smile falters. He stands up. “I think I’ll go up to our bedroom after all. I worry I’m a distraction.”
“Chris, it’s not—” Katrina pleads.
Her fiancé cuts her off. “Don’t worry about it.” He leans down. The unnecessarily long kiss he gives her is, I know, for my benefit. I want to pull my eyes from the cruel display, but I can’t, even while my body revolts. I rue the way my writer’s eye for detail catches every second of Chris’s lips bearing down on Katrina’s, the way his hand holds her face possessively.
Katrina pushes him off her, wiping her mouth. Her gaze is fiery.
I stand, sick. Suddenly, I don’t just hate Chris, I hate myself for what I just provoked him into doing. Furious, and guilty and disgusted, I walk out of the room before Chris can.
41
Katrina
? FOUR YEARS EARLIER ?