Page 138 of Pretty Cruel Villain
Because yes, Brinley is clever, sharp, and witty enough to be Peppermint. She’s got an ax to grind with me, Luke, Beau, Nate, and Ryan. Motive, opportunity, ability—they all match.
Fuck. When Maura finds out, she’s going to be devastated. Her best friend hasn’t just been keeping a massive secret from her—she’s actually shared my wife’s private life with the public. It’s a betrayal that’ll strike Maura to the core. I’ll have to deal with the news extremely fucking carefully.
If it’s true that Brinley is Peppermint, I know her target wasn’t Maura. It was me. I can’t even blame Brinley for it—I know how hurt she was by what the guys and I did. She’s still exacting revenge years later, using our own misbehavioragainst us. There’s a certain fairness to it. If my wife hadn’t been collateral damage, I might have found it in me to forgive her.
A few months ago, I would have been focused on revenge—on ruining the woman who did this. Now, I’m mostly concerned with managing my wife’s reaction. It’s a lot to handle and her emotional and physical safety have to come first. Even if that means I have to be a little less ruthless with her friend than I’d like.
I type back a response to Sharmi.
Re: Peppermint – Possible ID
Brinley is a possibility. Please confirm as soon as possible. I need irrefutable proof before I can move forward.
Because she’s just as much of a workaholic as I am, Sharmi answers quickly.
Will do.
I slide my phone back into my pocket and gaze at the painting on the wall. It’s one of Maura’s, of course—a warm, gold and ivory piece with a touch of pearlescent peach, made from smashed vintage coral beads. It fills me with a sense of deep peace.
Brinley and Peppermint can wait. I head back upstairs to see if Maura needs help getting out of the bath.
As it turns out, while I was busy answering emails, Maura got out of the bath and back into bed. She’s snoozing curled up on top of the covers with the lights on, a book in her hand. Exhaustion must have crept up on her. I fetch a spare blanket to drape over her, then crawl into bed beside her.
I rest my hand over Maura’s belly. Underneath, I think I feel the small flutter of our baby moving. It might still be too early for that, but I choose to believe it’s him or her saying hello. I know once we’re living through late nights of crying babies, I’ll miss this—the quiet of just me and my wife together in bed. Rightnow, though, I can’t wait. I want to meet our child and see the little person Maura and I made together.
Because I know they will be perfect.
Whatever happens next, with the baby, the gossip, Maura’s heart, my friends, I’m still glad this is where I ended up. With this woman in my bed, in my life, and in my arms.
~
