I throw the magazine back on the rack and grab one of the others. Then another. I flip through all of them, read through every article, looking for any sign that this is more than just a single rumor in a single tabloid. None of the other magazines have picked up the story yet, but I know it's only a matter of time. This information is too juicy, and Asher Julian's laid out his case too completely. Right now it's one magazine, but tomorrow or next week it will be all of them. It's probably all over the internet already, and G.o.d knows that's where the real damage is done.

Ward's life is about to get a whole lot harder.

I drop the magazines back on the rack. I can't bear to think of him going through what my family's been through-the constant rumors, the paparazzi, the magazine covers. It's impossible to escape it.

Not to mention the fact that it's going to make his chance of reconciling with his father that much harder. If there was any chance that Edward Carolson didn't know about his son and me, it's gone now. If I was hoping for any sympathy from the man, that ship has sailed. If I ever see that man again, he'll probably have me arrested on sight.

The blare of a police siren outside makes me jump.

They're just pa.s.sing by, I tell myself. They're not here for me. But I'm drawn back to the front of the store anyway. I need to look out the window and see for myself.

The police cruiser is just out front, its lights flashing. As I watch, the officer climbs out of the car.

For a moment I think it's all over. That they've found us and I'm about to be dragged away. But the cop doesn't look at the convenience store, or even at Ward, who's still at the pump. Instead, he walks around to the other side of his vehicle, where I finally spot the car of the poor guy he must have just pulled over.

Get it together, Lou, I think. You can't just freak out every time you hear a siren.

Still, I want to get out of here. I walk quickly out of the store and back to the car.

"You okay?" Ward asks when he sees my face.

"For a minute I just thought..." I throw a look over my shoulder at the cop. "I think I'm just jumpy."

Ward nods, and even he looks a little nervous.

"Come on," he says. "Let's go find somewhere to sleep tonight."

I'm glad he seems as eager to leave as I do. It makes me feel less paranoid. I even catch him watching the cop in his rear-view mirror as we pull out of the lot.

It'll only get worse when the reporters and paparazzi start coming after him, I think. Or when his face begins to appear in so many places that even strangers start to recognize him. I escaped a lot of scrutiny when I was in Thailand, but I've had plenty of experience with that sort of thing. It doesn't matter where you go-you feel like someone's following you. Like someone's watching you.

Everything is about to change.

I need to tell him.

I've been putting it off, trying to figure out what I might say to prepare him for what's to come. I need to just drag him into a supermarket and show him the magazine-or at the very least, get over myself and spit it out already-but every time I open my mouth to say something, he'll grin or laugh and look so happy that I can't bear to take that away from him.

I could watch him for hours. Study every little movement in his face. Count the times he bites down slightly on his lower lip as he hums along to a song on the radio. Admire the variations of color in the stubble on his cheeks and jaw.

Soon, that face will be everywhere. All over the gossip sites on the internet. All over the tabloids in every supermarket.

I only saw the magazine last night. Maybe he can live in ignorance for another few days. But if the situation were reversed...I'd want to know. And if he's going to hear it sooner or later, it's better that he hears it from me. Before things really explode.

"I don't think I've ever met anyone who enjoys staring at me so much," he says sometime mid-afternoon. "Not that I blame you."

"There's something you need to know," I say. "Something... well, it's going to complicate things."

His brows rise slightly. "What is it?"

Even though he's still wearing a smile, I can tell by the way that he shifts his grip on the steering wheel that he knows something big is coming.

Just spit it out, Lou, I tell myself. He needs to be prepared.

"Last night," I say, "when I went inside that gas station, I ended up looking at the magazines."

He shoots a glance at me. "Are you okay? What idiotic thing are they saying about you now?"

"It's not about me. I mean, it is, but there's more to it than that."

He frowns in confusion.

Just say it, Lou. You coward.

"It's about you," I blurt. "There was a magazine with your face on the cover. They've figured out who you are."

His face goes blank as he tries to process this information.

"Well, this'll be interesting," he says finally.

I can tell by his tone that he's not fully comprehending.

"Ward," I say softly, "they know why you worked at Huntington Manor. They know that Carolson is your father."

His hands tighten on the wheel.

"My father," he repeats.

"Obviously they're just speculating," I say. "And we're talking about a gossip magazine. Half the people who pick it up won't believe it anyway."

"It's not just speculation. It's the truth." He stares at the highway ahead of us. "This isn't going to just fade away, isn't it?"

Considering all the fuel we've given them recently?

"It's just one magazine," I say carefully. "Maybe tomorrow some A-list Hollywood couple will announce their divorce and no one will care about anything else. Our story might be dead by next week."

"Do you think it's going to die?" he asks.

I look out the window. "No." I've seen it too many times. Lived it. Carolson's decision to renovate the estate put him and the project in the public eye. My actions during Huntington Manor's official press week made sure everyone was talking about it. This story has everything: the elaborate manor, the crazy ex-heiress, the secret son of one of the wealthiest men in the country. We're the stars of our very own soap opera, and any tabloid worth its salt will be printing every sordid detail.

Ward drives in silence for a while. I try to focus on the scenery pa.s.sing outside my window, but it's impossible. My eyes keep drifting back to Ward.

I don't like the quiet, not from Ward. He's the sort of guy who's used to action, to attacking his problems-or the people causing them-head on. But there's nothing he can do in this situation, nothing for him to fight. If he had money or influence like his father, maybe he could use his connections to keep the story from spreading.

"I know that look," Ward says without even glancing at me. "What is it?"

I already know how he's going to respond to my suggestion, but I decide to suck it up and tell him anyway.

"Maybe you should call him."

"Who?"

"Carolson."

He looks at me like I've just suggested he sat his car on fire.

"Maybe he can stop this," I say.

"No doubt he's already trying. The last thing he wants is for this entire country to know about me."

"I'm sure he wants to protect you, too."

"Jesus, Louisa, have you forgotten who my father is? He doesn't give a f.u.c.k about anyone but himself."

I wish I had an argument for that, but I don't.

"Maybe you should still talk to him," I say softly. "It's only going to get harder from here. If you can't hide your involvement with me from your father, wouldn't you rather he heard your side of the story before the press blows everything out of proportion?"

But Ward's not hearing it. "I don't give a s.h.i.t about what he thinks about any of this. I don't owe that a.s.shole anything."

"I'm not saying you owe him anything. I'm just saying it might be good for your peace of mind."

"Cutting myself off completely from that jacka.s.s would be better."

"But that's exactly my point. You can't cut yourself off. Not now that the truth is out."

His jaw tightens.

"If you call him, at least it will be on your terms," I say. "You think he's just going to let this go?"

"No."

"No?"

"I'm not giving that a.s.shole another minute of my time."

"If you-"

He whips his head to look at me. "Whose side are you on?"

His words silence me.

But only for a second. The next second, anger rises in my chest. Is he really accusing me of siding with Carolson? After everything? My nails dig into the cushion of my seat.

"If that's what you think, then fine," I say. "Deal with it on your own."

He lets out a heavy sigh.

"Look," he says, "I know you're only trying to help me, but trust me-I know what I'm doing."

I want to believe him, but I don't buy for a minute that it doesn't hurt him to be estranged from his father.

"I've been through this," I say softly. "It's going to get harder, not easier. You need to stick with your family."

"So why are we out here? Where's your family?"

I feel like I've been hit in the gut. But Ward's not done.

"If we're supposed to stick with our families," he says, "then why are you running from your brother? This isn't any different. You're just trying to fix your own problems through me."

Silence hangs in the air between us.

"Pull over," I say, my voice no more than a whisper.

"Lou-"

"Pull over."

My stomach is a ball of nausea and rage. I need to get out of this car.

"Lou-"

"Dammit, Ward, just pull over or I'm going to jump out of this car whether you've stopped or not."

It's a little dramatic, but I'm too ticked off to care. And either way, it works. There's a rest stop just ahead, and Ward pulls into it without saying another word. I'm out of the car before he's even shifted it into park.

I didn't mean to start an argument. I just wanted to help him, to show him that it wasn't too late. How did this get twisted around on me?

I march across the asphalt toward the convenience station, trying to put as much distance between me and Ward as possible.

The worst part, I find myself thinking, is that he's right. How is his response to this issue any different than mine has been all along?

"Lou!" Ward calls after me.

I stop halfway across the parking lot, but I don't turn around. I force myself to take a couple of deep breaths.

Ward's footsteps come up behind me.

"Lou, I'm sorry," he says. "I'm a f.u.c.king idiot. I shouldn't have said those things." He catches me gently by the arm and spins me around to face him. His eyes are full of regret and shame.

"I never should have said that," he repeats gently. "And I didn't mean it, I just-"

"You did mean it. But that's okay, because it's true."

"I don't think-"

"No. You were right."