“Don’t,” she whispered.
That was the first time all night she sounded afraid rather than angry.
“Don’t open that door.”
“Why?”
“You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I think I do.”
“Please.”
The word stopped me for half a second.
Vanessa did not say please often when she was losing an argument. She used it when she wanted to appear reasonable or when she genuinely feared something.
I opened the door.
Adrian Voss stood beneath the porch light holding a thick manila folder.
He was taller than his professional photos suggested, wearing a dark wool coat over a white shirt with the collar open. His hair was damp from the wind, and his expression contained none of the arrogance I had imagined from Vanessa’s stories. He looked tired, embarrassed, and profoundly uncomfortable.
His eyes moved past me.
He saw Vanessa.
She saw the folder.
“Oh God,” she said.
Adrian held it out to me.
“These have your name on them.”
I took the folder.
“Thank you.”
Vanessa stepped forward.
“You had no right.”
Adrian looked at her.
“No right to what?”
“To bring that here.”
“You left it at my apartment.”
“Because I trusted you.”
He laughed once, without humor.
“That’s an interesting word tonight.”
Vanessa moved closer to the doorway.
“Adrian, go home.”
“No problem.”
He turned slightly, then stopped.
“There’s one thing I need to say.”
I almost interrupted. I did not want a confrontation on my porch at midnight. But his voice was calm.
Adrian looked at Vanessa.
“You told me he knew.”
She said nothing.
“You told me you two were separated. You told me the apartment was because you were moving out. You told me the house financing was something you had both discussed.”
Vanessa’s jaw tightened.
“I told you it was complicated.”
“No. You told me he had agreed.”
I looked down at the folder.
Adrian continued.
“You also told me Daniel was bothering you and you wanted nothing to do with him.”
“That has nothing to do with you.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t anymore.”
Vanessa’s face twisted.
“So what is this? You two bonding now? The cheated husband and the guilty boyfriend comparing notes?”
“No,” I said. “This is two people discovering you told them incompatible stories.”
She turned on me.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“No.”
“You are. You’ve been waiting for a chance to humiliate me.”