When We're Thirty

by Casey Dembowski

  He had planned on telling her on the drive up, once they’d arrived, or any time in the last two weeks. But when was the appropriate time to tell his wife her sister-in-law was also her bajingo sister, a homewrecker, and the person who had utterly destroyed his life? He couldn’t bear the look that would cross her face the moment the truth came out—not from Hannah. She was the only important person in his life who didn’t pity him like that, who still believed only great things for him.

  “Hannah likes you,” he said. “She’s excited to have another woman to help her, and I quote, ‘navigate the intricacies of the Thorne boys.’”

  “That’s not—”

  “Come on, Madison. What if the situation was reversed?” He met her eyes, which were locked on him. It had been so long since he’d really looked at her, but they were the same eyes— still adorably wide and mesmerizing green.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’d hate me.”

  He looked away, his stomach roiling. This wasn’t him. This couldn’t be him—agreeing with Madison, keeping secrets. All that lying was what had gotten him here. Hannah deserved the truth. “I’m going to tell her.”

  Without him realizing it, Madison had crossed the room. She stood inches from him. “I won’t say anything, William. Not unless she says something first.”

  “Why?” He wouldn’t have questioned anyone else, but meddling was one of Madison’s specialties, and the sanctity of commitments was not high on her priority list. She had barely shown any remorse for her actions both to and with Will. Her hand had slipped from one Thorne to the next, and that was that. Except in the middle of the night when she had clearly missed the younger model.

  “Whatever you may think, I do care about you.” Will braced for Madison’s touch, but her hand didn’t move from the arm of the chair. “And if Hannah makes you happy, then I’m happy for you.”

  He almost believed her. But Madison was ever the actress. The glint in her eye hinted at ulterior motives. He could guess at them, but he couldn’t go down that road anymore. It only led to more despair and lies and messiness. He would warn Hannah about Madison. It had only been a day. It wasn’t like the two women were exchanging friendship bracelets.

  “Do you think...” she said, hedging. Madison never hedged. “Do you think your mother would’ve hated me?”

  Had they been in any other room, it would’ve been as far out in left field as you could get. But she knew why his wanderings always brought him there. Madison knew everything.

  “I don’t know,” he said after several seconds of silence. The question had crossed his mind, but he’d never come up with a sound answer. Hating Madison betrayed Jon—loving her hurt Will. It was a lose-lose situation. He was glad Mom wasn’t here to decide between her sons.

  “Do you hate me?”

  Will crossed the room to the picture window and stared into the darkness. “Let’s not do this, Madison.”

  “So, you do hate me,” she said, and he swore there was melancholy in her voice, a quiver to the statement that didn’t fit.

  “No good would come from my answering that question,” he said, trying to be diplomatic. What answer could she have possibly expected? Of course he hated her. He hated her in the way he could only despise someone he had loved—deeply, completely, and sometimes not at all. “You’re about to be my sister-in-law, so whether I hate you or not is irrelevant.”

  “It’s not irrelevant to me.”

  He turned to face her, relieved to find her standing by the doorway. Madison might be a meddler, but she also knew when to fold. “I hated you a little less today.”

  WILL DIDN’T KNOW HE could have an emotional hangover, but after only a day and a half in the Hamptons, his head felt like it was in a vise grip, and he was literally itchy. He’d woken up to an empty bed and a note that Hannah had gone to find sustenance. She wasn’t in the kitchen, though according to Renata, she’d been there earlier. Will sat down by himself in the dining room with a heaping plate of eggs, bacon, and two full English muffins slathered with orange marmalade. He shot Hannah a quick text before diving in. He didn’t often get to claim this table as his own. It was rejuvenating. Bit by bit, he was taking back what Jon and Madison had stolen.

  As the first sips of coffee hit his system, his head started to clear. He tried to cast off the memory that had been haunting him since his late-night conversation with Madison. Memorial Day Weekend, during the first big party of the summer, he’d found Madison and Jon locked in an embrace deep within Renata’s kitchen, the sounds of the party muffled by all the stainless steel. Jon’s pants hung low on him, and Madison’s dress was scrunched up over her hips. Will had dropped the bottle of wine he’d retrieved, shattering—

  “Morning, little brother,” Jon said, sitting down across from Will.

  Will blinked twice, snapping out of it. He should’ve known better. There was no being alone at the Thorne mansion, and even when he was alone, the weight of expectation was a constant companion. And Jon had built-in Will radar. If Will wasn’t hiding out in his room—as far away from his family as he could get—Jon found him. Will knew what his brother was trying to do. He also knew it would never work. There was no going back if he married her—when he married her. Jon thought that the fact that his love for Madison was the real thing would make everything better. Maybe it would to the outside world, but to Will, that only made it more unforgiveable.

  “And now my appetite is gone,” Will said, piling his silverware on his plate.

  “Can I have your muffin, then?” Jon reached across the table, but Will pulled the plate back toward himself. “Come on. Don’t act like a child. You sat in a public space.”

  Will wanted to argue more—his brother could’ve kept walking, found literally any other place to sit—but he also wanted to finish his breakfast. He glanced at his phone, still no word from Hannah. Maybe she’d made a run for it. It wouldn’t be the first time his family had scared a woman off in a day. He picked his silverware back up and scanned the latest headlines in hopes of deterring his brother from further conversation.

  Three bites into his eggs, Jon cleared his throat.

  That couldn’t be good. Will looked up expectantly.

  Jon stared at him, his expression hesitant and curious. “Hannah seems cool,” he said after a beat. “You two are a good fit.”

  “We think so,” Will said, returning to his breakfast. He couldn’t be nice to Jon. Once he opened that door, Jon would lodge himself inside and wouldn’t give an inch. Well enough wasn’t in Jon’s repertoire, and the longer Will shared a room with Jon—literally and metaphorically—the more likely he was to punch him in the face.

  “I was thinking, you know, now that you’re married—” Jon paused, uncertainty flashing across his face before he plowed on. “Maybe you would consider giving a speech at the wedding or the rehearsal dinner?”

  What. The. Fuck?

  Will took a breath then another. He counted to ten, twenty, and thirty, giving his brother a chance to take it back, giving himself the self-control to not leap across the table. Jon couldn’t be serious. And yet, it was clear from the open expression on his face that he thought it was a reasonable request.

  Will ran a hand along his forehead, stopping to massage his temple. He tried to keep his tone as neutral as possible and devoid of the well of sarcasm brewing under his chest. “No, I will not give a speech at your wedding.”

  Jon had the audacity to look surprised. “But you’re married now. You’re happy.”

  “Yes. I’m happily married to the woman of my dreams. But I’m still not giving a speech at your wedding to my ex-girlfriend,” Will said through his teeth. Fucking Jon. “You are lucky I even agreed to be in the bridal party. I tolerate you at work and these godforsaken weekends because I have to. But if I never had to see you again, I would be fine with that.”

  “You don’t mean that, William. No matter what happened, I’m your brother.” Jon took an infuriatingly calm sip of his coffee. “I will always be
your brother.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  Jon pulled a face. “I don’t see why we can’t be adults about this and agree to put everything that happened behind us.”

  “Wow,” Will said. “That’s a real apology right there—I know I destroyed your life, but let’s be adults about it.”

  “I’ve already apologized to you.”

  “Actually, Jon, you have never apologized,” Will said, shaking his head. “You never even bothered to speak with me before proposing, like you marrying her made it all better. It didn’t—it doesn’t. You can’t wish this away with a wedding and forced lunches and acting like everything is fine.”

  Jon put his coffee cup down and met Will’s gaze. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “Still not an apology!”

  “I’m not going to apologize for falling in love with Madison.” Jon stared at him incredulously. “And I’m sure as hell not going to spend the rest of my life apologizing for marrying her.”

  Will stood up. He didn’t have to sit here and have this conversation. Jon thought what he’d done was okay because it was for love, and there was no telling him otherwise. Maybe he had to see it that way. Maybe that was all that kept him from hating himself every day.

  “Everything okay in here?”

  Will and Jon both looked up at the sound of Madison’s voice. She stood in the doorway in her tennis outfit, a small plate of fruit in her hands. Hannah would’ve had bacon. Madison met Will’s gaze, not Jon’s. It was an awful representation of the mess they found themselves in.

  “Fine,” Will said as a means of getting Madison to break her hold on him. “Have you seen my wife this morning?”

  “She went for a walk with Daniel earlier. I believe she was heading to the Peach Pit after that.”

  At least Hannah was fitting in and comfortable enough to head out on her own. Not bothering to look back at Jon, Will walked past Madison and into the hallway. He sent Hannah another text, letting her know he was going out for a run. If he didn’t get some miles under him, all the emotions roiling inside were going to explode to the surface. That was the last thing he needed to happen in front of Hannah before he told her the truth about Madison.

  “Oh, Will.” He stopped in his tracks at Madison’s voice. “Can you make sure Hannah has a copy of your insurance card with her name on it for our first appointment? I can’t get her in without it.”

  A shiver went through him. He knew Hannah had set up an appointment with Madison, but he had to find some way around it. He wondered how he could he manage that without spelling out the truth. And if Madison was in—which she so clearly was—there was no turning that train around. He took a deep breath and glanced at his phone again. There was still no response from Hannah. With a curt nod to Madison, he headed back toward his room, considering exactly how many miles he could fit in before Hannah returned.

  Chapter 22

  Hannah

  Hannah pulled the Lexus into the circle drive, sliding in between Jon’s Mercedes and Daniel’s Acura. The doctor had the cheapest and least luxurious of the luxury vehicles. There was a joke there, but she didn’t know what it was. All of that was completely out of her realm. Her car was six years old—paid off only last year—with nearly one hundred thousand miles on it. It wasn’t flashy and still had that boxy shape that cars had back before every company remodeled for a sleeker look. But it was hers.

  She wrapped her hands around the large coffee from the Peach Pit. Madison had warned her it was a bad idea to bring it back, but after that weekend, she didn’t care. But how best to get it into the house unnoticed? Was there a side door? Though she had no idea where in the house her father-in-law resided. She bit her lip and examined the house again.

  Oh, fuck it. She was a grown woman. If she wanted to buy coffee, Jonathan would have to deal with it like an adult. She smiled to herself, the cup warming her hands and self-righteousness warming her soul. She was going to find the largest mug possible and hide the shit out of that coffee.

  Hannah peeked in the front door. No one was in the vestibule. Not that that meant anything in a mansion—someone could be in the next room, and she’d never hear them. She shouldered the front door closed and weighed heading straight to her room or detouring through the kitchen. Her stomach growled. The kitchen it was. Maybe there would be some breakfast left out since they apparently didn’t eat lunch on Sundays. Heathens.

  “Pardon?”

  Hannah slapped a hand over her mouth, swallowing a squeak at the voice. She’d apparently said that last part out loud.

  “Did you need something, miss?”

  “Oh, Renata,” Hannah said, turning to face the older woman. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  Renata stared at her—judging or calculating, Hannah didn’t know. She counted the seconds before the woman finally spoke. “You don’t like Mr. Thorne’s coffee?”

  “Umm... it’s just a bit strong.” The urge to shield her offensive outsider coffee from Renata overwhelmed her, and she wrapped both hands around the paper cup.

  Renata’s eyes narrowed, but then the smallest of laughs escaped her lips. “Can’t say I don’t agree. Come with me.”

  Hannah thought her wanderings from that morning had given her a solid understanding of the house layout, but she had no idea where Renata was taking her. They might as well have been crawling through a secret passage behind the walls.

  They went through a part of the house with its own vibes. Nothing was dusty, but everything seemed older, from the style to the personal pictures of the boys as kids—something the rest of the house lacked. She stopped to pick up a picture of a young Will curled against the hip of his mother. Will resembled Jonathan, but wow, he was his mother’s son.

  “Miss?”

  Hannah took a few quick steps and found herself at the back of the kitchen. She followed Renata through the pantry, past the appliances, and to the front where breakfast had been set up that morning. She grabbed a plate and a cranberry muffin, taking a seat on one of the stools. Renata placed an oversized mug in front of her. It wasn’t anything she would have expected to find in this house with its fine china for a continental breakfast. Hannah spun it around. University of Iowa was on the other side. It was Will’s mug. It had to be. She distinctly remembered the morning he chipped the handle and his resolve to use the mug through graduation anyway. That had been October of junior year.

  “Has Will been down yet?” Hannah asked, sipping her still-warm coffee.

  Renata nodded, her attention focused on the vegetables she was chopping. “I saw him heading out in his trainers right before you came in.”

  Right. Of course he’d be out for another run. Hannah pulled out her phone and found a text message confirming this information—a series of messages, upon further review. She typed out a quick text with one hand, picking up Will’s mug with the other. She stood up, raising the cup to Renata in farewell. She smiled back, laughter playing across her face. Was Renata like this with all the women the boys brought home? Probably not—Madison had barely registered Renata’s existence. Hannah held her coffee close to her chest. She had found another ally.

  She meandered through the halls, certain if she kept going straight, she would find a room with a fireplace. It would be nice to sit in the glow of a fire, relax, contemplate life—or at least text Kate the latest details. She’d promised a live-texting event but had sent only two texts since Friday night. Fate had other plans. The door next to her opened, revealing none other than Jonathan himself. Crap.

  She smiled wanly and waved with the hand that didn’t hold her contraband coffee. Jonathan did not wave back or smile but rather nodded. “Ah, Miss Abbott,” he said, his tone placid. “Or I suppose Mrs. Thorne?”

  “Hannah is fine,” she said, trying to keep her tone neutral. Jonathan was prickly and could insult a person without ever saying anything negative and keeping a completely sanguine smile on his face. Will had warned her. She was prepared not to react, but seeing
it in action and having it directed at her created quite an exercise in self-control.

  “As you wish. I was hoping to chat with you without my son, if that’s amenable?”

  She nodded her approval and then followed him into what appeared to be an office. In the middle of the room sat a giant mahogany desk whittled to spectacular detail. It was every writer’s dream desk and something a writer’s salary could never afford—at least, not her salary. Jonathan took a seat behind the desk in an oversized leather chair. He motioned for Hannah to sit across from him. Even the chairs were designed to intimidate. They were low to the ground with equal heights in the arms and the back. They created a George Bailey-versus-Mr. Potter dynamic. Well, the joke was on Jonathan—the Mr. Potters of the world never won.

  “I have something for you,” Jonathan said once they were both seated. He held out a large manila envelope.

  Hannah glanced at it warily before accepting it. “What’s this?”

  He motioned for her to open it, but she left it in her lap. Whatever was in this envelope, Hannah knew instinctively she wanted no part of it.

  “Please,” he added when she didn’t move.

  She pulled out the document, taking in the top line: Petition for Marriage Annulment.

  Hannah’s eyes flicked up to his, anger and shock warring inside her—anger because how dare he make assumptions, and shock because it was Sunday morning, and he’d only found out yesterday afternoon.

  “My son can be quite impetuous,” Jonathan said to her silent accusation, “especially after a broken heart. And I must say, his last broken heart was quite thorough.”

  “I am aware,” Hannah said curtly.

  “Are you? Well, then you can see why I might find it suspect that my son was in his right mind when he married you. And if I’m not mistaken, you yourself only just got out of a relationship.”