“Oh, it was real,” Sabrina says. “I made it my business to know if she was really yours long before you even knew she was born.”

“Why do you care so much?” I ask.

“Because I’ve sacrificed everything,” she says, her eyes blazing and looking a little wild. “Everything. Do you get that? The only thing I have left to lose is you, and I won’t let that happen.”

Chapter 23

Liz

I stayed at Nix’s last night, shamefully ending any additional sexy times she doubtlessly had planned with Max. I let her comfort me in every way she could without me telling her what I couldn’t, and after that I was too emotionally exhausted to drive home.

When I do get home, there’s a sexy man leaning against my door with a couple of Starbucks cups and a magazine.

“Hi, George.” Too bad it’s not the sexy man I want to see.

He hands me the cup. “I wasn’t sure what you liked from Starbucks, but I figured anything with lots of sugar would do, and I got you a double mocha. I’m guessing you could use it.”

I probably look as wrung out as I feel. “I’m okay.”

“You two fought.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“These walls aren’t that thick, Liz, and I was home last night.”

Unsure how to respond, I take a long drink—heaven. “Come on in,” I say, opening the door.

I’m not in the mood for company, but if George is going to do sweet things like bring me sugar-laden coffee on a Saturday morning, it’s time we have a talk.

The couch seems too intimate after Sam told me he caught George looking down my shirt, so I lead the way to the table and take a seat.

He takes the seat across from me and puts the magazine facedown in front of him.

“What is that?” I ask.

“Stars Like Us, this morning’s edition.”

I frown. “The gossip rag?” That’s the magazine that first got its hands on the sex tape.

“My employer.”

I draw in a sharp breath. I knew he worked for a magazine, but I never asked which and I never thought . . . “No.”

He holds up a hand. “I have no intentions of telling anyone at work about my neighbor’s evening activities. That’s not exactly my job anyway. I work the tech side of things.”

“There’s nothing between me and Sam.” And I am so sick of lying that I’m determined to make it true. At least until he doesn’t have to pretend to be with Sabrina anymore.

“Good to know,” George says. He flips the magazine over and nudges it across the table.

My heart rises into my throat, bringing a couple of gallons of stomach acid with it. It hurts to look at the couple on the cover. “I don’t understand.”

“I guess the bride- and groom-to-be got a little frisky after picking out rings yesterday. One of our New York photographers got a tip that they’d be in the hotel bar last night, and when he showed up, they put on quite a show.”

The cover shows Sam and Sabrina in a corner booth of a swanky bar. She’s straddling his lap, her skirt hitched high on her hips, and his hands are in her wild red hair as she kisses him.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Liz,” George says. “I feel like you need a friend right now.”

Why would this hurt me? That’s what I should say, but the words won’t come. I open up the magazine and find the article, “America’s Sweethearts Still Hot for Each Other.” The two-page spread isn’t so much an article as it is a collage of pictures taken of the two of them in the bar last night.

I’m going to throw up.

I don’t know how long I stare at the pictures, but they’ve gone blurry behind my tears when George pulls the magazine away.

“I’m sorry. He’s a rat bastard, Liz.”

Rat bastard. Isn’t that supposed to be his father, not him? “He’s a good guy. He just—”

“Do you even see yourself?” George asks. “Have you looked in the mirror in the last five months and faced the sadness in your eyes? Because I’ve seen it every day. I don’t know what they think they’re doing behind the scenes of that campaign, but I hate what this is doing to you. Don’t let him hurt you anymore. You deserve so much better.”

I take a deep breath and wipe my eyes. George works for Stars Like Us. I need to make sure I don’t give anything away he could use against the campaign. My gut tells me I can trust him, but my gut’s useless. “His engagement doesn’t have anything to do with the campaign.”

George grunts. “I suppose the next thing you’re going to tell me is that the video is recent?” He holds up a hand. “Relax. I can’t prove anything. I just have my suspicions.”

“What do you mean?” I take a long drink of my coffee. I’m counting on the sugar to pick me up and help me keep my poker face, but it might be a lost cause.

“Do you ever wonder who leaked that sex tape? I mean, normal people keep that kind of thing under lock and key, but someone in a political family would be especially judicious about their privacy.”

And Christine even more so than Sabrina. “I don’t know,” I say. “I guess I never really thought about it.” But it’s a good question. A really good question. “Didn’t they say Sabrina’s computer was hacked?” But why would Sabrina have her mom’s sex tape on her computer? That doesn’t make sense. Was that a lie too?