Page 49

Eloise’s throat bobs, and her jaw clenches, an indication that a panic attack might be coming on. I’ve gotten to know the signs.

“No, we’re good, thanks so much for all your help,” I say, putting Pip on the floor and ushering them down the hall. “I’ll definitely check out those protein powders, okay, bye!”

I shut the door behind them and head back to the living room. Eloise is standing where I left her.

Her chest hitches, and she’s shaking her head, tears filling her eyes as she struggles to breathe. She needs something sturdy, some way to feel grounded while she does her count five. Usually, a wall works best. But this party is on a rooftop and there won’t be many walls there, and I want to do something to help, something physical, tangible.

I step forward and grab her hand.

“Count five,” I say. I breathe in slowly as I count aloud. “One, two, three, four, five.”

She grips my hand hard, her fingernails digging into my skin. I don’t care. She can hold me as hard as she needs to. I keep her hand firmly in mine.

“Good,” I say. “Now exhale.”

I count again, exhaling with her, and she lets out a gasp as her breath comes back to her.

“One more?” I ask and she nods, blinking away her tears. I count in again, and she inhales with me. Her grip on my hand relaxes a fraction, then another. We breathe out together, as the Colonel pads over to lean against her thigh.

“Sorry,” Eloise croaks.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. That was a lot of activity in your house.”

“Oh fuck did I ruin the makeup? Sanvi worked so hard on it …”

Her hands flutter around her face, like she’s scared to touch herself. I grab her wrists softly and put her arms by her sides.

“You’re fine,” I reassure her. “You’re perfect.”

She blinks, her eyes widening, and I realize that sounded like flirting.

It’s been harder and harder over these past weeks to remind myself of the boundaries she set. That we have an expiration date. That I can’t allow myself to become too accustomed to her presence. Because whenever I coax a laugh out of her, it feels like I’ve won the lottery. When I witness a moment of patience with one of the dogs (usually Charleston or Pip), my heart seems to throb straight out of my chest. There’s something so fundamentally good about Eloise.

And now, as I look at her, the deep blue hue of her dress offsetting the cream-and-rose colors of her skin, I am overcome with the urge to pull her toward me. To tuck her into the crook of my shoulder. To make sure she knows she’s safe.

Instead, I drop her wrists and give her the space I’m sure she wants. I have to respect her boundaries. She takes a step back, her blush reaching to her collarbone.

“Thanks,” she mumbles. She touches her hair—her curls are very thick and shiny this evening—and takes a few tentative steps in her shoes. She doesn’t fall over, which seems to give her some confidence. The Colonel mirrors her every movement. “Okay,” she says, her voice sounding stronger. “Okay.”

“Ready?” I ask.

Her phone pings. “The car is downstairs,” she says. Then she looks around at the dogs. “You guys be good. Doggie cam is on, Miriam is on-call in case anything happens …”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” I reassure her. “It’s only a couple of hours. They’ll be fine.”

She swallows hard. “I know.”

And I know it’s not the dogs she’s really worried about.

“You’re going to be fine too,” I add.

She narrows her eyes at me. She hates my boundless positivity.

“You’re not going to die,” I amend. “And if you feel nervous, just squeeze my hand as hard as you can.”

She bites her lip. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I suppress my smile. “You’re not going to hurt me.” I offer her my arm. “Shall we?”