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Adrien sighed. “Okay, Ria, I know you said for me to leave you alone, but just hear me out for a few minutes.”
“No.”
“Fine. Thirty seconds. I’ve been talking to—”
“Adrien,no.” I didn’t want to hear it. I turned back to Robert. “Look, I appreciate whatever it is you’re trying to do here because I think your heart’s in the right place, but I really just want to be left alone. And, again, I’m very sorry about all the lying, but I really hope that I never have any reason to run into you or your grandson again.”
That was about as polite as I could put it with the amount of exhausted frustration weighing on me.
I averted my gaze as my hand curled around the handle of my carry-on, and I kept it down as I made my silent exit from Adrien’s life. Permanently this time.
The words “you’re being an idiot” were the last thing I heard before the doors closed behind me. Though this time, I wasn’t entirely confident Robert wasn’t talking directly to me.
* * *
The apartment door tore open the second my suitcase stopped rolling against the marble tiles, before I’d even had a chance to fish my keys out of my purse.
“Hello, Ariana,” a very unimpressed Jamie greeted me, looking like a cartoon villain with the way she was holding a glaring, purring Toebeans against her chest. “Fancy seeing you here, alive and not dead.”
My shoulder slumped against the wall. I hadn’t responded to her messages over the last two days. Not since the Josh thing happened.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Alba thinks you’ve been kidnapped because you haven’t been responding to her. I haven’t corrected her.”
That sounded about right. “In my defense, there was a lot going on.”
Her left brow rose as Toebeans thrashed his tail against her arm. I couldn’t tell which one of them looked angrier with me. For my own sake, I really hoped it was Jamie.
My lips pushed against each other. She didn’t know about me and Adrien, either. I’d been waiting to tell her when I got home, over a bottle of wine. Back when I thought it was going to be a fun conversation.
“I slept with your future husband,” I said.
Her eyes widened, a slow grin spreading across her face as all signs of anger vanished. “You slut! Tell. Me. Everything!”
“Josh is his cousin.”
Her grin died. “Wait, what?”
“We have to, um, go,” I said. My vision was suddenly very blurry, my throat tight. “Now, please. We have to pack up and go now.”
“It’s almost midnight on a weeknight—”
“Please? Can we just go now?” I needed to be in my own home. In my own bed.
There was a beat of silence, and then she nodded, pulling me inside by my arm. “Okay. All right. Let’s go now.”
We packed quickly, quietly. I tried my best to ignore the worried glances Jamie kept throwing my way, and she did her best to pretend like she didn’t hear my sniffling, didn’t see the unsubtle ways I kept having to wipe my vision clear. And I couldn’t have appreciated her more for it.
The Uber dropped us off at our crummy old walk-up two hours later. We hauled our bags up the stairs, released a yelling Toebeans into the pitch-black apartment, and before Jamie could start asking questions, I said, “I’m exhausted. Can we please talk about it tomorrow?”
She squeezed my hand. “Okay.”
Then I went straight to my room, curled on top of the covers with my jacket still on, and bawled.
36
Eleven dayslater
