Upon our arrival in San Francisco on Wednesday morning, we go to the hotel, where the network is putting the two of us up for the night. We checked into our rooms at the front desk, which we discovered were on the same floor, then separated so we could get ready before we left for the studio. Two cars were coming to pick us up, at two different times. Ethan is leaving fifteen minutes before me, so I guess he can arrive at the studio first and hide away before I get there.

I believe Lisa’s orchestrated some big reunion for the two of us. They still don’t have a clue that we already know each other, or that we traveled together to San Francisco.

Something they can never know. We took such a huge risk, riding together. One I tried to prevent, but Ethan would have none of it. He claims he just wanted me with him. I figured he was worried about me traveling alone. But I conceded, because I wanted the excuse to spend time with him alone in his car during a long drive. It gave us time to talk—about all sorts of things. Little things, though, never the big things that still divide us.

Like his lies. His deception. My family’s hatred and disapproval. I don’t know if I can trust him. I know what he wants, but I’m scared it could ruin us completely.

We circle around those frightening topics, afraid to approach them for fear that once we do, there’s no going back.

The hotel is nice, my room large, old but elegant, with a king-sized bed and a fantastic view of the entire city. I stare out the window for a while, knowing Ethan has the same view, and I wonder what he’s thinking. Is he as nervous as I am? He’d seemed pretty at ease during the drive, but he’s pretty good at hiding his emotions.

I’m not good at that trick at all.

Giving up on the view, I throw open my suitcase on the bed and hang the three outfits I brought as options in the closet, then take a step back to examine each one. I’m already a tangle of nerves, unable to decide what to wear, which is silly. I want to look pretty but strong. Confident. I know I’m not talking to Aaron Monroe live or anything crazy like that, because if that were the case, I wouldn’t be able to go through with it. But we’re going to be shown clips from Monroe’s interview and I’m not sure if I’m prepared to see him.

What if I get sick? I’m nauseous just thinking about it. I can pretend I’m strong all I want, wearing my new outfit as armor, but deep down inside, one look at him and I’ll be rendered back to the scared twelve-year-old girl I once was. Lisa will probably love every minute of it, too. I’m starting to think she’s heartless.

To say Lisa was beyond ecstatic to hear from Ethan/Will would be an understatement. From the moment he texted her, I knew she believed she’d won. She got exactly what she wanted and for a brief, terrifying moment, I wondered if what Ethan and I agreed to do was a mistake.

But I realized quickly that we can handle this, as long as we are in it together. That’s what I tell myself at least.

I take a shower and blow my hair dry until it’s nice and straight. Carefully apply my makeup, though I figure a makeup artist is going to be there, so why I’m wasting my time I’m not sure. I finally decide on an outfit, choosing the charcoal-gray, long-sleeved dress that I’ll wear with black tights and knee-high boots. Sort of a kick-ass look for me, one I’m hoping I own when I walk into the room.

I’m rolling on the tights when my phone chimes with a text message. It’s Ethan.

I’m glad he texted me. I did sort of forget. That would have been awkward.

I text him back.

I’m still struggling with the stupid tights when he finally texts again.

I need him to hold my hand and tell me it’s going to be okay. I need him to remain calm so I’ll be calm, too. I need so much from him, probably more than he can ever give, so instead I tell him nothing at all.

His response is quick.

“Thank you so much for doing this,” Lisa gushes the moment I walk into the hushed studio. She’s the only one there. Not even the cameramen have arrived yet, which I find strange. Her assistant is the one who escorted me to Lisa after they touched up my makeup and shellacked my hair with too much hairspray. The woman, who was probably around my age or a little older, couldn’t stop gushing over what an “honor” it was to meet me.

I wondered if Lisa put her up to that.

“I know it wasn’t an easy decision,” Lisa continues. “But I’m thrilled you’re giving me another opportunity for you to tell your side of the story.”

“Did you really give me a choice, Lisa?” I cross my arms in front of my chest, trying to tamp down my anger. But it’s hard. She’s manipulated this entire situation from the start.

“We always have choices,” she says cheerily, ignoring my stormy mood. “And I’m so excited for you to meet Will again after all of these years. He’s here, you know.”

My heart starts to pound, so hard I’m afraid she can see it through the material of my dress. It’s almost like this really is the first time I’m seeing him after going for so many years without any contact. “He is?”

Lisa nods. “He arrived about twenty minutes before you. We just conducted his interview.” She pauses as my mind tries to play catch-up. They already had his interview? Wow, that was fast. And I thought we were going to be interviewed together. “He looks great, by the way.”

I raise a brow. What is she trying to say?

“He’s so handsome, well spoken, successful in his chosen career,” Lisa continues, her eyes sparkling like a mischievous child’s. “Quite the catch.”

Okay, yeah, she’s saying exactly what I thought. “Are you trying to make a love connection between us, Lisa?”

She starts to laugh and waves a dismissive hand. “No. Don’t be silly. As if that would ever happen. You two would have way too much baggage to deal with if you ever started seeing each other romantically. I can’t imagine how difficult that would be.”

I say nothing. She’s totally right. We are a disaster waiting to happen.

“Besides, he mentioned there was someone special in his life.” Lisa smiles mysteriously. “He wouldn’t name names or anything like that, but I could tell by his reaction that he has a girlfriend or, who knows, maybe even a boyfriend? Though he did mention a ‘she’ . . .”

Her speculation is a sight to behold. And could Ethan be referring to me? Or did he say he was in a relationship to ward Lisa off? I’d think that sort of admission would open up an entirely new line of questioning. “I’m glad he’s found someone,” I tell her. “Everyone deserves someone to love.”

“Including you, my dear. I think of you often, drifting through your life alone.” Lisa makes a tsk-ing noise, while I’m standing there with my hands suddenly clenched into fists, wanting to punch her right in her stupid mocking face.

How dare she?

“Oh, I’m fine,” I say through clenched teeth. “It’s not like I’m an old maid put up on the shelf yet.” I remember reading that line once, and automatically thinking of myself. That had been a few years ago, though, when I had a different attitude.

I’m only twenty-one, which is still pretty young. I have plenty of years ahead of me to find a lasting relationship. Why would she imply I’m a lonely loser who’ll never find love?

“ ‘Put up on the shelf,’ such a quaint saying.” Lisa sounds amused. Of course, she would. I never realized before just how mocking she can be.

“Are we ready to do this or what?” I ask irritably.

She clasps her hands together, appearing almost as if in prayer. “Let’s get started.”

The cameramen enter the small studio as if they knew they were being summoned, as well as Lisa’s assistant. They arrange the chairs so that we’ll be seated facing each other and a large television is brought into the room on a rolling stand, situated behind Lisa and just to her right.

My nerves immediately flare up, performing a tap dance in my stomach. That TV represents Aaron Monroe. I told her the last time I agreed to this interview that I wouldn’t listen to what he had to say, but this time, I gave in, as did Will. She promised it would be brief and I believe her. But knowing I’ll see his face flash on the screen . . . hear his voice . . . I’m testing myself on virgin ground. Will I be able to stand seeing him? Hearing him? Or will I lose it completely and do something horrible . . . like vomit all over Lisa?

Oh God, if I do something like that I’ll be forever mortified.

“I’m not going to talk for long,” I tell her the moment she sits in the chair opposite mine. “We agreed to ten minutes.”

Lisa nods, her expression betraying no emotion. “That’s fine.”

I felt the need for a reminder. “If I don’t feel comfortable with the questions regarding Monroe, I’ll put a halt to the entire interview.”

Her lips shift into an almost sneer. But as quickly as it appears, the expression is gone. “I wouldn’t recommend that.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” I retort. Lisa’s eyes widen the slightest bit. I’m not acting like the scared girl who she spoke to only a few months ago. I’m a little savvier, a lot fiercer.

“Let’s just get this started.” She glances over her shoulder. “Are we ready yet?”

Within minutes, we are. The cameras are pointed directly at us, the lights bright, making me sweat along my hairline, just like last time. I’m nervous, my hands clutched in my lap, and I will them to relax, forcing my tense shoulders to fall. I don’t want Lisa to know I’m anxious.

Though knowing her, I’m sure she can sense it.

The formalities are gone through. The usual introductory questions, the meaningless answers. She segues into the tough questions right off the bat like the pro she is, her expression neutral, her gaze full of that wide-eyed acceptance she’s so good at.

“What was your first reaction when you heard that Aaron Monroe agreed to do an interview?” She blinks at me, her lips curved into a pleasant smile.

“Disgust.” I let the word drop like a bomb in between us. She doesn’t even twitch. I have to give her credit. “What could he possibly say that anyone would want to hear?”

“Quite a lot, actually.” Lisa leans forward, as if she’s about to deliver a particularly juicy tidbit. “More than anything, he wants your forgiveness.”

Right on cue the television screen lights up and there he is, clad in his white prison uniform, his head shaved down to nothing so that he’s bald. He’s fleshy. Pale. Like he doesn’t get much time outside, which I’m sure he doesn’t. His eyes are dull and so dark, just like I remember. He’d been strong then, too much so for me to fight off.

I lean back in my chair, as if I need the distance. But I can’t look away, my gaze locked on the man’s face.

The very same man who thrust his face in mine, screaming filth. I remember those eyes, almost black and full of so much rage as he called me horrific names. Tore my clothes off. Choked me until I almost passed out.

His voice spills from the TV speaker and I cringe, my hands automatically going to the chair’s armrests, fingers curling tight. I haven’t heard him speak in a long time and I preferred it that way.

Hearing him takes me right back. The memories assail me, one after the other.

“What I did was wrong,” he says, his cigarette-roughened voice even scratchier than I remember. “And I wish for Katherine’s forgiveness, though I know I probably won’t get it. But it would mean so much if she could dig deep and find forgiveness in her heart for what I’ve done. I’ve already found my peace with Jesus. I’d like to find my peace with Katherine Watts, too.”

The screen goes black.

As do my thoughts.

“So, Katherine. Can you find it in your heart to forgive Aaron Monroe for what he’s done to you?”