Making Up is Hard to Do
Hanna sits heavily on the couch. “A half a million dollars? Lucas was going to pay a half a million dollars? For me?”
“He did pay. We believe he walked into the church with the money in a briefcase. He must have made the exchange moments before our team arrived.”
“Why would they even ask Lucas? Why wouldn’t they ask you?”
He has the good grace to look ashamed.
“Oh my god. You refused to pay them?”
“You can’t negotiate with these kinds of people! If I bought your freedom with $500,000, every criminal in the world would be lining up to snatch you in hopes of an easy pay day! Gottesman is an amateur. An amateur who was oddly willing to part with large sums of cash on your behalf.”
“What are you trying to say? You think I’m sleeping with Lucas?”
“You’re living in his loft. You’re driving his Jag. He’s buying warehouses for your future fashion line. And he’s liquidating stock options to make a deal with your captors! Do you think I don’t know about your cold feet? Do you think I care about your dalliances? We’re worldly people, Hanna! I don’t care how many schoolgirl crushes you want to revisit, alright? These people are your past. I am your future!”
“You’re not,” Hanna says, feeling the words leave her mouth like a bullet. A clean shot of decision to put that version of the future out of its misery.
“What?” Jordan says, sounding legitimately stunned.
“I can’t marry you.”
“But Hanna,” he pleads. “We’re good together! We walk into parties and people turn to stare. Remember the first time we made Page Six? That blind item about the fashion world’s newest power couple getting handsy at the Bryant Park skating rink? You’re confused! You’re upset! Let’s not make any decisions just yet.”
“I was confused. You came into my life at a time when I was trying to figure things out, and you - Jordan, you were so perfect. It seemed like a fairy tale. But it wasn’t real.”
“It was real enough,” Jordan says, a bitter note in his voice. “When my doorman was carrying your bags up to my penthouse. When you were flying off to Cabo in my private jet. When doors started opening for you all over Manhattan - I never heard you complain!”
“Marriage isn’t about money and status. It’s about two people who love each other.”
“You did say this was a fairy tale,” Jordan mutters. “Fine! I love you, Hanna! I want to spend the rest of my life being your Prince Charming. Let me be your white knight and carry you away from this ridiculous town before you convince yourself that you’re serious.”
“Maybe I’m not looking for a prince,” Hanna tells him, sadly. “I need a partner. I don’t want to be the damsel in distress anymore. And I am serious, Jordan. It’s over.”
“Nonsense,” he replies. “We have a date set. A venue. Invitations at the engraver’s.”
“I’m sorry. I really am. I honestly never meant for it to turn out this way.”
“No,” Jordan responds. “You never mean for anything to happen, do you? Swanning around, flashing that gorgeous smile, batting your eyelashes and eating up all the attention. Don’t pretend it’s not on purpose, Hanna. You’re nothing but a selfish bitch who wants the whole world to fall in love with her.”
“That is not fair!”
“You don’t care who you hurt, do you? You steal hearts like it’s a game - like you’re still shoplifting from downmarket boutiques! Trying on anything that might suit you and then waltzing out without ever having to pay the price!”
“You should go,” Hanna says, her voice on the edge of tears. “Go back to New York.”
“Cry all you want,” Jordan says, his voice so loud it echoes off the industrial walls. “It’s the truth! And it’s not because of the divorce or the threatening text messages or how you just can’t believe anyone would care about Hefty Hanna! It’s who you are! Careless of anyone’s feelings but your own! Shrugging off consequences like last season’s rain coat! You’re worse than a gold digger! Worse than a fame whore! You’re an absolute wreck of a person who just goes around sucking up love indiscriminately, cutting your teeth on the heart of anyone stupid enough to really care for you! You are a shallow, narcissistic little girl, incapable of loving anyone but yourself!”
“That’s enough.” A ringing voice declares from the doorway. It sounds like Veronica Hastings badgering a witness, but it’s Spencer standing there with her arms folded and an expression of cold fury on her face. “You need to leave. Now.”
“Or what?” Jordan says dismissively. “I’ll be set upon by the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants?”
“Or Page Six will be printing a not-so-blind item about the Hobart scion with anger management issues,” Spencer counters, holding up her cell phone. “You know Radar Online would be salivating over the love triangle. ‘Hobart’s Hit on Romantic Rival!’ The headline just writes itself, don’t you think?”
“You’re done in New York,” he tells Hanna as he stalks angrily towards the door. “I hope you spend the rest of your life rotting in this godforsaken town, thinking about this moment. Because the best thing that ever happened to you is about to walk out and never come back!” He pauses dramatically, as if waiting for Hanna to fling herself into his arms and beg him to stay.
“Go,” Hanna says instead.
He leaves, slamming the door with enough force that it rattles on its hinges.
Hanna stands there, staring wordlessly at Spencer.
“I don’t know why he’s so mad,” Spencer says, finally breaking the silence. “It’s not like you kissed his boyfriend.”
Hanna makes a noise that starts as a laugh and ends as a sob, and then Spencer is hugging her and shushing her tearful attempts to apologize. “You should be the one yelling at me,” Hanna says. “You should be storming around and throwing your shoes at my head!”
“I had three different angry speeches I was working on in the car on the way over here,” Spencer admits, rubbing small circles on Hanna’s back. “I couldn’t decide whether I was going to call you an inveigling Jezebel or Judas in Jungle Red lipstick.”
“Go ahead,” Hanna sniffs. “I deserve it! It was a huge mistake, Spencer. It was about me being scared, and Caleb being there, and - Jordan was right when he called me careless! You’re my best friend, and I feel sick when I think about what I did to you.”
“Are you sure you’re not feeling sick because you ate half a pound of cookie dough?” Spencer asks. “Anyway, it’s one thing for me to want to go all Jersey Shore on you. That doesn’t mean Jordan gets to.”
“He’s having a bad day,” Hanna shrugs. “He’s never been rejected before.”
“His day’s about to get worse,” Spencer chuckles grimly. “He’s might have to walk back to New York. Tanner was arresting his driver when I pulled up outside. Apparently, they got an anonymous tip that included video footage of him fleeing the church with a smoking gun.”
“Caleb?” Hanna asks, hesitantly.
“Probably. I haven’t talked to him.”
“I know this doesn’t make it any better,” Hanna says. “But I swear it didn’t mean anything.”
“For you,” Spencer replies, darkly. “But even before ‘A’ sent that text, the way he was acting when you were missing - he still has feelings for you. And that would have been true, even if your lips had stayed away from each other.”
“As they should have!” Hanna stresses. “Far, far away.” She takes Spencer’s hand. “I’m really sorry, Spence.”
“I know,” Spencer nods. “And I might still want to take a rain check on the yelling.”
“Understood,” Hanna agrees with a smile. “I can’t believe you came storming over here to tell me off and wound up comforting me.”
“That’s not why I came, actually.”
“Did you want some cookie dough?”
“No,” Spencer says, a serious look on her face. “I came to find out where you went, Hanna. Where did you go when you left the hotel?”