Page 47

“He means well, you know,” Max says that night.

We are alone on the deck. Ginny and James are still at work, and Max is waiting for a text from a girl he claims is “open in all the best ways”. I don’t even want to know what that means.

“Who means well?” I ask stiffly. If he’s defending Edward I’m going to clock him.

“James,” he says. “He lays into you. But it’s not about you. It’s about him.”

“What do you mean?”

“He wants to protect you, but it comes out wrong. And he thinks he’s feeling anger, when in truth it’s just flat-out jealousy.”

“Jealous?” I scoff. “He’s not jealous of me.”

“No, he’s jealous of anyone who gets near you,” he replies. “You can’t have missed the way he acts around you. The last time I saw him like this he was 15. He can barely function when you’re in the room.”

I shake my head. “You’re confusing him being angry and judgmental about every freaking thing I do with him liking me.”

“Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that he’s like that because he can’t stand even the slightest hint that you might be with someone else?”

“He told me point blank he doesn’t like me that way.”

“Or maybe he told you that because that’s what he’s telling himself. But that doesn’t make it true. If he came home right now and found me sitting with Ginny, he’d be happy. He’d probably thank me for hanging out with her. He finds out I was here with you, he’d slit my throat in my sleep.”

I raise an eyebrow. “That would be extreme, even for James.”

“Fine,” says Max. “Then he’d do what he’s done every time you make him mad or get him worked up. He’d go running.”

My brow furrows. “He just likes to run.”

“Right,” scoffs Max. “At 2 in the morning? When he’s already gone running that day? Trust me. James doesn’t like to run that much.”

He leaves for his ‘date’, and I remain on the deck, feeling more buoyant than I’ve ever felt in my life.

Chapter 27

Edward calls me three times over the next two days. I ignore them until he texts that he has a job for me. He’s found my one weakness. Well, I think, looking over at James — he’s found one of my weaknesses.

I no longer trust that there is anywhere in this house that I won’t be overheard, so I walk toward the boardwalk before I dial his number. “I’m glad you’re finally calling, Eleanor,” he says. His voice is soothing. He doesn’t sound angry or offended, which is a relief. “I didn’t mean to upset you with the flowers, or with what I wrote.”

He’s so apologetic I feel a little guilty. “You didn’t upset me,” I say. “I just … ”

“I know,” he says. “It’s okay. You and I are in very different places in our lives. I get it.”

Relief whistles through my lungs. “You said you might have a job?”

“Yes,” he says. “How do you feel about morning television?”

It’s as good as — maybe even better than — working his show. “That would be amazing,” I breathe.

“Yes, it’s definitely a good starting point,” he agrees. “This producer is an old friend of mine, and I think she can find something for you. Come up to the Hamptons this weekend and I’ll introduce you.”

All that relief and excitement whistles right back out of me like a deflating balloon. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Edward,” I say.

“The press has moved on, Eleanor,” he sighs. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“But I told you I don’t want anything, um,” I search for a word to describe what he wants and settle for a euphemism. “Romantic.”

“I know,” he says, beginning to sound irritated. “But if I’m going to lobby to get you this we need to make it happen in the right way.”