Page 18 of The Quiet After The Fall

I watch him go. Then I look at Knox.

His mask is back on. I can spot the difference a mile away. It’s like the last ten minutes happened to someone else entirely. He watches Tom’s retreating back with an expression that gives absolutely nothing away and something about how quickly and easily he’s able to go there makes me remember why I was angry.

And that anger reminds me exactly who I’m dealing with.

“I have to go,” I say.

“No, Thorne.”

The way he says Thorne instead of my first name stings. I push off the wall and pull my keys from my purse.

“Come on. Wait⁠—”

But I’m already walking. Head up, shoulders back, the Thorne version of holding it together that Mom taught me well. Don’t let them see. Not here. Not in the middle of Ashford where Tom whoever the fuck he is is watching from down the street.

Knox follows me until I reach my car, and then he stands there, quietly stewing, waiting for me to crack. Well, I won’t. Not again.

“Just go!”

He finally listens.

Once he’s a few steps away, I get in my car, shut the door, and sit there for ten seconds, waiting for him to be far enough away before I drop my forehead against the steering wheel.

My cheek is still warm where his hand was.

My fist is still holding the shape of his shirt.

I take a shaky breath and sit up, start the engine, and pull out of the lot before I do something I can’t take back.

Chapter 5

Knox

The country club’s private dining room smells like fresh flowers and money, two things I’ve spent my whole life surrounded by and never once found comforting.

Ella’s stepmother, Diane, booked the space today for a “planning luncheon” which really means twelve women, ten different vendor portfolios spread across two tables pushed together, and enough champagne to get a football team wasted. And this isn’t even for the actual wedding. No. This is only for the upcoming engagement party.

Ella’s sitting at one of the tables, sipping champagne and absorbing all the attention. She looks happy. Genuinely happy, because of my proposal. Carrying the weight of that is something I’m struggling with. It’s fucking with my head.

As soon as I could give myself some space, I did. A glass of whiskey in hand, settling near the window. I can get through today. I’ve gotten good at the whole existing in a room without actually being present. Nodding at the right intervals. Producing the appropriate expression when someone looks my way.

Diane has already introduced me to three women whose names I’d forgotten immediately, and each of them gripped my hand or kissed my cheek and said some version of what a wonderful match Ella and I make. I smiled and agreed and felt nothing but lingering dread.

My mother is here too, of course. Victoria Aldrich doesn’t miss events, even when she’s barely coherent. She’s sitting next to Diane, their heads bent together over a portfolio of centerpiece arrangements, chatting back and forth like they’ve known each other for years. She looks decent today. Better than she has lately. I’ve been monitoring her even more since the accident. How I did those first days after her overdose.

“Knox.” I blink and Ella’s next to me, sliding her hand into the crook of my arm. “You doing alright? You’re kind of out of it.”

“What?”

“You look like you’re lost in la-la land.” She keeps her voice light, her smile in place for all to see. “Try to look like you want to be here.”

I notice Diane watching us and force a smile. “I want to be here.”

“Right.” She squeezes my arm and rolls her eyes slightly. Not enough that anyone else would notice. Then she drifts back to the table, rejoining the conversation about peonies and roses.

I turn back to the window.

Outside, the golf course spans what seems like miles. Flat and green and mostly empty except for a groundskeeper dragging something across the fairway. It’s a Tuesday afternoon in July. Most Ashford families are at their summer homes in the Cape or The Hamptons or some up in Lake Mercer’s Point.