All it took was one whiff of stargazer lilies to undo all that work.
I’m a soggy mess now, both inside and out. I’m crying for Giana. I’m crying for Bill, too, who died horribly and undeservedly, and for Susan, who is alive but not awake, and who might know something terrible if she ever opens her eyes again. I’m crying for poor Caroline. I’m crying for myself, and for the baby in my belly, and for the man who’s about to spend the rest of his life pretending I never existed just as soon as the job is finished.
I’m crying so hard I don’t hear him approach.
I just feel the air shift, and then a coat—warm, dry on the inside, smelling like rain on pine—settles around my shoulders. Hands pull me onto a nearby bench and an arm tucks me into his side.
“You shouldn’t be,” I gasp. “Mat, you can
