Page 106 of The Truth of Us

Theo stood beside me, unusually quiet. Finally, he said, “Elliot.”

I swallowed. “What?”

“You need to breathe.”

I realized then that I wasn’t. I drew air into my lungs, but it hurt. Everything hurts. My chest, my throat, my hands from squeezing my fists too tight for too long. The space behind my ribs where something had been cracking open for weeks and now finally split.

“She looks different,” I said.

Theo didn’t answer.

“She…” I stopped.

Because I didn’t know how to say it. She looked happy without me.

Theo seemed to understand anyway. He looked toward the cafe, then back at me, saying, “You really did screw up.”

I laughed, but it came out broken. “So helpful.”

For a while neither of us moved; people passed around us as cars rushed through intersections. Chicago continued being Chicago, completely indifferent to the fact that my life had just caved in across the street. Finally, Theo clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Come on.”

“I can’t just leave,” I whispered.

“You can.” I looked at him, and he held my gaze, adding, “You should.”

Every instinct in me screamed against it. To go inside, demand answers, to tell Harper I was sorry, ask if she was with him… To ask if she loved him. To ask if she ever loved me. To ask if I had ruined the only thing in my life that had ever felt like mine and then apologize for thinking of her that way too. But Theo was right. If I walked into that cafe now, I would not be choosing Harper. I would be choosing panic, again. And hadn’t panic already cost me enough?

So I stood there, hands shaking, jaw clenched, heart doing something I still did not want to name.

I let her have her coffee. Her smile. Her peace.

Without me.

For the first time since Harper Lane walked away, I did not chase, and somehow that felt less like growth and more like dying in the middle of a sidewalk.

Theo started walking. After a second, I followed, not because I wanted to, but because if I stayed…

Theo sighed. “You’re going to be insufferable, aren’t you?”

I looked at him, and he swore under his breath. He started walking again; this time I didn’t look back, but every step away from that cafe felt wrong. Like I was leaving a part of me behind.

25

HARPER

Ihad never understood why people called it getting ready. There was nothing ready about me, everything felt uncertain. The dress had arrived that morning under the supervision of three different people, in a climate-controlled garment bag. My father had tried to act casual about it when he handed it to me over breakfast. We had decided that he should stay with me at the family townhouse instead of in a suite while he was in Chicago.

"I thought perhaps you might wear this tonight."

I laughed. "With that much security, I am guessing this is more than just a thought and somewhere close to a carefully orchestrated plan."

He smiled into his coffee. "Maybe."

I hadn't thought much of it until I unzipped the bag, then I forgot how to breathe. The gown was black, and not a polite or professional black. It was something else entirely. Layers of black silk and hand-appliqued lace flowed into one another so seamlessly that it looked less like fabric and more like art. Tiny black stones had been hand sewn into the lacework, catching the light only when the dress moved. The sleeves were fitted and entirely sheer lace, intricate enough that I spent five minutes tracing the pattern with my fingertips. It was breathtaking.

I stood in my bedroom staring at it for so long that Thomas eventually knocked.

"Miss Montgomery?"