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They feel like home.
That home I can never have again.
I play a scale. Slowly. Then faster.
My fingers warm up.
Then I start a song. One I wrote a million years ago.
I make it through four chords, then I break.
I can't do it. It's too painful.
It opens that hole in my heart. All those memories of Dad teaching me to play. Of Mom gushing over a song.
Those days after he died, sitting in the living room all night, trying to make sense of my thoughts as I scribbled messy lyrics.
There's too much.
I can't take it. Not now.
Soon.
I'll go back to it soon. But not yet. Not when I have to guard my heart so closely.
Saturday morning, Sienna and I grab brunch at our normal spot.
We walk to her favorite coffee place in the Village (she's picky for a girl who drinks anything sweet), admire the purple NYU flags that dot the neighborhood, talk about anything except everything changing.
She starts school in August.
And I marry Ty. Move into his place.
Start my life.
I wait until we're home, until I'm dressed, until Ty's already sent a message that he's on his way (not that he needs the message. He's always a few minutes early, no matter the occasion).
I perfect my winged liner. Curl my eyelashes. Apply another coat of mascara.
There. I slip into my black ankle boots and move into the main room.
Sienna's on the couch, watching a reality show about people who only have three months to decide if they want to get married or never see each other again. She turns to me and drops her jaw. "Holy shit, Indie."
"Too much?"
"Only if you're meeting his parents." She studies the snug dress. The deep plunge, the sleek black fabric, the short hem. "Are you?"
"No." Would I know if I was? "Just him."
"Don't you work Saturdays?"
"I quit."
"You didn't mention that until now?"
I shrug like it's no big deal.
She raises a brow. "I guess… it's good. That you have your own secrets now. And it really sucks there. Even if Meghan slips me drinks." Her nose scrunches. "You knew, huh?"
"Suspected." Meghan is always making sure the other girls are doing well. Of course, she's slipping Sienna drinks.
"I wouldn't like you working there either if I was him. But is he uh… making up the difference?"
"Don't worry about it."
She shoots me a get real look. "Listen, I'm all about this Pretty Woman thing you have going with Mr. London. And I'm glad you have secrets worth keeping. But I'm not a kid. If something is up, you can tell me."
Maybe. I promised I'd try to keep this secret, but I can tell her some of the truth.
"'Cause if you're fucking him for money, that's okay with me. Respect to you, for deciding what you do with your body. Especially because you finally look satisfied."
Oh my god. I can't help but laugh.
"I know guys have offered. At Rick's. But you've never… you've never agreed, right?"
I've considered it. I almost said yes a few times. Especially right after Mom died. When bills were tight and I was exhausted. But I always found a way. A different way. "Never."
"It's okay if you want to say yes. But do it for you and your love of fancy tea. I can take care of myself," she says. "I have math."
"You have math?"
"Yeah, no offense Indie, but that's a real skill. I mean, charming rich guys is a real skill too. But music… it's not very marketable."
"Thanks for believing in me."
"I do. You're this close to putting a ring on it."
That is true.
"And I'm okay. Without your help. Hell, if this thing doesn't work out with Mr. London, and you can't find another rich guy, I'll be the one helping pay your bills."
"You think marrying a rich guy is my best bet?"
"In the entire history of civilization, marrying a rich guy has been the best bet for most women, most of the time."
"Perceptive."
"And you're tall and thin. Guys like that."
"You really know how to schmooze. Has anyone told you that?"
"He likes you," she says. "Let him buy things for you."
"I appreciate your advice on relationships."
My phone buzzes. Ty. He's here.
And my sister thinks he's here to offer me a few grand for one night. Which, really, wouldn't be so bad. If it was Ty.
Maybe better than this.
Or maybe a million times worse.
My phone buzzes again. Not a text this time. A call.
"Is he coming up?" she asks.
"Hey," I answer the call. "I uh, I'm talking to Sienna. I'll be a minute."
"Of course."
"Actually… Do you think you can meet her now?"
"You want me to meet her tonight?"
"Yeah? Could you? Please."
Chapter Seventeen
Ty
I take a deep breath. Inhale the warm air.
It's past sunset—the sky is that soft shade of blue Indigo loves—but it's as hot as it was this afternoon. The mix of humidity, concrete, and steel trap the heat.
