“Yeah. I mean…” I glance at the doorway, confirm my family members haven’t silently returned, and rest my chin on my hands. “I need to figure out how to take care of myself. So, I’m grateful to him for not rushing in. I’m not—I’m not okay with how it went down, but I’m not mad at him for letting it rest.”
Renata stares at me, impressed. Suddenly, she lurches forward and grabs my head, making a low buzzing noise. “Look out, she’s developing, this brain, it’s going to explode!”
I start laughing and duck away from her hands. I only stop when someone clears their throat behind us, and I fall backward, staring at Maisie from upside down. “Hey, Cat,” she says, strangely stiff. “You… you got a package.”
My eyes dart to her hands. She’s clutching a brown-paper-wrapped rectangle like it’s the nuclear codes. “She gave him youraddress!” Samantha yells from behind her, and Maisie pushes her back into the kitchen doorway.
“I didn’t, I had no idea he was going to send this,” Maisie babbles as I jump to my feet. “He only had the address because he needed it for investor stuff, for the restaurant, you know, the building and money…”
“Uh-huh.” I barely hear her as I take the package from her. “I’ll be back, okay?”
“Promise?”
There’s Maisie-Mouse again. I nudge her shoulder with mine. “Don’t be scared. I promise. Renata—put onDevil Wears Prada.I’ll be right back.”
His handwriting is neat, like it’d been on that Post-it Note in his bathroom. I trace the letters with my fingertip.Fausto Ferreira Sanchez, sent from his apartment. It’s stamped with a Priority Mail sticker, though there can’t be such a thing as overnight shipping from Monte Carlo to Waterfield, Illinois.
I peel off the address sticker in case I need to write him back. Then I peel the paper off.
Beneath the wrapping is soft leather, cool to the touch. It’s dark, and I turn it around. It’s… a book? No—there are only three letters stamped to the front in silver foil.FAU.
Confused, I try to open it, then get caught on the elastic band wrapped around the front, keeping the cover from opening.
That’s when I remember.
A journal.
He’d been keeping a journal the whole time we knew each other. He’d written about me.
With shaky fingers, I carefully slip off the elastic and open the notebook. Out falls a piece of paper, folded, from the front. Behind it, I see that Faust has dated every page at the top, because of course he does. He wrote every day. I’ll be able to see, day by day, what he’d been thinking about me. How he’d really felt.
If it was or wasn’t a game for him, once and for all.
I unfold the paper.I meant it all, is written in small, neat letters.
When you’re ready, see it for yourself.
Faust.
I touch his name, the strongF, the slouchinga-u-s-t, knowing what’s inside this journal will change me, one way or another. His letter isn’t asking for me to come back. He doesn’t sign off withloveoryoursorsincerely, or anything that would spoil what’s waiting for me. Because maybe everything inside is desperately romantic and real, but he’s changed his mind. Maybe I’m going to read about how I broke his heart after he got swindled by my baby sister. Pain, knowledge, regret, joy. I don’t know.
But I do know that he’s giving me time to make my choice, on my terms. And I’m not quite ready for him to change me again—yet.
There’s still something else I need to do.
Setting the paper down, I take a breath and head back downstairs to talk to Renata.
Chapter 31OPENING
“I can’t do it,” Iwhisper. “Just—delete it.”
“Like hell you can’t,” Maisie says. She’s sitting on the kitchen counter, my beat-up laptop balancing on her legs. This really isn’t the time for my own mental breakdown, seeing as her restaurant’s soft opening is tonight—but I’d gone tomato red when I saw the Parsons email address pop up on my phone, and here we are. My mistake, for bumping myself to three phone peeks per day.
How nice, to let her do this for me.
“Samantha, keep whisking. Bailey, you need to cut the carrots sideways. With that one knife, you can’t use the mandoline.” Rubbing off a perfectly placed puff of flour from her nose, Maisie glances at me, smiles sweetly, then clicks. I’m standing in front of her, so I watch her eyes dart back and forth as she reads, her face controlled.
“Well?”
