Jane Bites Back_ A Novel - Michael Thomas Ford [43]
“I’m going to be published,” she heard herself say.
Walter blinked. “Published?” he said.
Jane nodded crazily “Published,” she said, wondering where in the world that had come from. “A novel.”
“You wrote a novel?” Walter asked. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I don’t know,” said Jane. “I guess I was afraid I would look foolish if it didn’t sell.”
“A novel,” Walter said again. He was beaming. “Well, congratulations! I’m so proud of you.”
He scooted over on the couch and gave Jane a hug. “What’s it called?” he asked her.
For a moment Jane couldn’t remember. “Constance,” she recalled finally.
“Constance,” Walter repeated. “When does it come out?”
“May, I think,” Jane answered.
Walter clapped his hand on her knee and gave it a squeeze. “I can’t believe it,” he said. “Here you had me thinking we were going to have some big talk about how we’re incompatible because of our religious views. Unicorns. Werewolves.” He laughed. “You really had me going there.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Jane said. “Well, now the secret’s out.”
“How long have you known?” Walter asked.
“Not long,” she told him. “A few weeks, really.”
“Is that why you went to New York?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Jane murmured.
Walter shook his head. “You’re certainly a sly one,” he said. “Wow. A novel. That’s amazing, Jane. Really amazing. I can’t wait to read it.” Then he gave her a serious look. “Are there any other secrets you’re keeping from me?”
“I don’t think so,” Jane said. She took a sip of wine and choked as it went down the wrong way. “No, I think that’s it,” she added when she could speak again.
“Does anyone else know?” Walter said.
“Just you,” said Jane. “And I’d like to keep it that way for now. I don’t want people making a big fuss about it. It’s just a book.”
“It’s not just a book,” Walter said. “It’s your book. And that is a big deal.” He grinned. “You’re a published novelist,” he said.
And an immortal blood-drinking monster, Jane thought as she flashed what she hoped passed for a smile. “That’s me!” she said cheerfully.
Over dinner Walter grilled her about the book. She fed him details as if they were morsels of food, enough to keep him satisfied but not so much that he knew everything. Now that she’d revealed her impending publication, she found that it was actually a welcome distraction from her real problem. That still lingered in the back of her mind. She had not told Walter her most important secret, the one that would likely result in his death if she withheld it for much longer.
“We’ll have a big launch party at the store,” Walter said. “Oh, and you’ll have to do a reading.”
By the end of the evening, Jane was exhausted from listening to Walter talk about her novel. At half past eight she thanked him for dinner, kissed him good night, and left with an enormous sense of relief coupled with a growing burden of guilt. She’d done nothing to improve his situation as far as Byron’s threat was concerned.
The house was quiet when she entered. She’d half expected to find Byron seated in her living room again. She would almost have preferred it if he were. At least then she would know that Walter and Lucy were safe for the moment.
“I don’t think he’ll do anything for the present,” she said aloud as she walked upstairs to the bedroom.
“I won’t, will I?”
Jane, startled, gave a small scream. On her bed Byron was stretched out, his hands behind his head, completely naked. Tom was perched on his stomach, looking at Jane without interest.
“What are you doing here?” Jane demanded.
“Waiting for you,” said Byron. “I assume your talk with your boyfriend went well. He seemed to take the news surprisingly well.”
“I don’t know if I’d go quite that far,” Jane replied. Then a thought occurred to her. “You were watching us,” she said.
“Guilty,” said Byron. “To be honest, I was expecting more of a scene. It was really rather disappointing.”
He saw us, Jane thought to herself. But did he hear us? If so, then he would know that she hadn’t really told Walter about herself. But if that was true, why wasn’t he mocking