Page 71 of Wrong Number Right Doctor

“I’m sorry,” I say.

His jaw shifts. “You’re good at that.”

For a second, neither of us says anything.

Then I say, “I never meant to lie to you.”

His face is unreadable. “You don’t owe me anything.”

That hurts more than if he had sounded angry.

I come down the steps slowly. “That’s not true.”

“It is.”

“No.” I stop a few feet away from him. “I didn’t know who you were. I didn’t know you knew Alester. I didn’t know you were going to be involved in this.”

“In this,” he repeats.

I swallow. “You know what I mean.”

“I know some of it.”

Because of course he doesn’t know all of it. He knows I was in Alester’s house. He knows I’m pregnant. But he doesn’t know why I signed the contract. He doesn’t know about Nate. He doesn’t know what the money means. He doesn’t know how hard I’ve been trying to keep every part of my life from touching the others.

“I panicked,” I say.

His jaw moves slightly. “At the hotel?”

“Yes.”

“And tonight?”

I look away.

His car is black, expensive, parked under the light near the front steps. My reflection is faint in the window: black dress, pale face, hair not as neat as it was when I arrived.

“Tonight too,” I admit.

Dalton says nothing.

I look back at him. “When Alester asked if we knew each other, I didn’t know what else to say.”

“You said no.”

“Yes.”

“And asked me to say it too.”

“I know.”

He studies me for a moment, and I hate how quiet he is. I would almost rather he raise his voice. This controlled distance is worse.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

His eyes harden a little. “You’ve said that before.”

My face burns. “That was awful,” I say. “I know it was. I shouldn’t have left like that.”