His eyes were watery, but he still hadn’t given me an answer. Anxiety flashed through me.
“Are you saying no?”
“Are you going to get down on one knee?” he asked as if he was holding back by the thinnest measure, in case I was kidding.
I took the Buffalo Nickel off my neck. His coin on my chain had rested near my heart ever since he gave it to me. It had been his promise to me once, and I wanted to make him a promise,too. So I wrapped the chain around his left wrist, like a tether to the safest place I had ever known. “Say you’ll always be my home.”
Tears were rolling down both our cheeks as he drew me into his lap for a long kiss.
“And promise we’ll never fight like that.”
I giggled, because laughter was easier than admitting how terrified I was by my own longing. I’d watched my life collapse before and wanting forever with Beau felt like an act of love—yes. But also an act of defiance.
“I promise,” he said before he kissed me again.
It was a smug lie. The kind you tell yourself before you know better. But at the time, I believed him. I believed in us.
Chapter 28
Two Days Before the Hurricane
When I walk through Nora’s front door, my eyes are swollen from crying.
“Oh fuck,” she says, mouth falling open as she looks up from her living room sofa. She’s on her feet in an instant, arms open wide and pulling me into a hug. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, we’re going to figure it out.”
She has no idea how wrong she is.
She was right about one thing at least. Love messes with your judgment on all types of shit.
The words start tumbling out before I can stop them. “I slept with my boss. I never told you. But I did. Years ago. And he’s here now. At the Ritz. I just saw him.”
“Shit,” she says, her face frozen in horror.
“Yeah.” A jagged laugh chokes from my throat. “Simon. He thinks Beau took down his company with this massive data breach. And I think…I think he’s right. And if that’s true, Beau blew up the company I built my life around. And I don’t know why, but I think it has something to do with what Beau and Gemma were fighting about on that security footage. And maybe why Gemma’s dead.”
A sound comes from the kitchen—the soft tap of a drawer closing—and it momentarily slows the cascade of words spilling out of me. I look around the corner, and Marcus is standing at the sink, like he means to be anywhere but here right now.
“What are you doing here?” I say, stunned. “I’m furious with you.”
“Me?” Marcus points a finger to his own chest as if he couldn’t think of one reason why I’d be angry.
“You lied to me,” I accuse. “You told me the security footage was nothing. Covered for Beau and let me think things were going to be fine.”
“Este, I’m sorry,” he says, more defensive than contrite. “Beau didn’t want you to be upset.”
“Well, look at how wellthatwent!” I shout back, and the tears I’ve been keeping at bay start running down my cheeks again. “Are you covering for him? What do you know about that night, Marcus?”
Marcus opens his mouth to protest, but Nora gets there first.
“Okay.” Her voice goes soft and high like a preschool teacher’s. She rubs my back a little. “Marcus is going to leave.” She cuts a look in his direction signaling him to cooperate with this plan. “And you’re going to go wash your face, and I’m going to open a bottle of wine. And we’re going to breathe in and out for a little bit. And then we’ll make a plan. Okay?”
“Yeah,” I whimper, because it feels nice to not be in charge of anything but my own mental breakdown.
And if anyone gets to tell me I’m going to be okay, it’s Nora, who is already piecing her life back together after her fairy tale combusted.
So I turn and wander down the hall to Nora’s bathroom.
Once inside the echoey space, though, all I can do is stare at the bottles of cleansers and tubs of moisturizers and serums on her counter as fear and anger and grief blend together, clamping down on me so hard that the idea of lifting my arms to wash my face feels impossible.
