Ethan skimmed the article again, enough to take away that Wilde was intimating it was Sutton who was writing Ethan’s books, from start to finish. That he had severe writer’s block, or maybe he’d plagiarized the first book, stole it completely from another author who wasn’t published, someone he’d come across in a writing class.

Rage filled him. His vision blackened, and it took a good five minutes before he could really hear Sutton. She was crying. That shook him from his state.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Let go of me!”

He looked down, realized he was gripping Sutton’s forearm so tightly her hand was turning white. He released her as if burned.

“Oh my God, Sutton. I am so sorry.”

She cradled her arm in her lap. There was going to be a bruise. It would be bad, too. Sutton was so easily damaged these days.

“You scared me. I thought you were going to hurt me. You grabbed my arm, and you wouldn’t let go. It’s turning black already. My God, Ethan.”

He threw his arms around her. “Baby, baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’d never hurt you on purpose.”

But her eyes were wide, the pupils dilated. She was cringing in her chair, pulling away.

He tried to stay calm. He stepped back, put some space between them. “Where would he get this idea? That you’re writing my books? That I plagiarized someone?”

“I have no idea. It’s preposterous. I mean, all I ever do is edit you, and that lightly. Accusing me of writing them is silly. Everyone knows you write your own books. You were a writer well before you met me. I’m going to put ice on my arm.”

“Let me get it for you.” He rushed to the kitchen, came back to see Sutton taking a photo of the burgeoning bruise.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“I can’t see it properly. It looks like two fingerprints.”

“Here.” He handed her the ice, took the phone from her hand. “Move your arm to the right.” She did, and he snapped the picture. He handed her the phone. “See. It’s not as bad as you think.”

She stared at it.

“You should probably delete that. You don’t want the weird sisters to see it and get the wrong idea.”

“No one can tell what it is, it just looks like a smudge.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Come here.” This time she let him hug her. He arranged her on the small sofa, tucked the ice pack in around her arm. “Do you want some Advil?”

“No, the ice is fine.”

“I’m sorry Wilde is at it again. I think we should look at hiring someone to get him to back off.”

“A lawyer?”

“Yes.”