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"I guess we have nothing better to do, and I guess if it'll keep you from freaking out on me again...ouch."
She pinches me and gives me a mock glare. "I didn't freak out."
"Okay, not sure what it looks like when you do, then. That was pretty intense for a minute."
She smiles wistfully. "I haven't had a panic attack in a very long time. Thank you. I'm glad you knew what to do."
"You're welcome. My sister had them for years, so I recognized it."
She gives me a quick, grateful smile and then clasps her hands together as if to say, "Let's begin."
"This is your chance to get stuff off your chest without the risk of it ever being thrown back in your face later. I won't tell anyone, I won't judge you, I'll just listen. And I want you to do the same for me. No prodding. No other questions, okay?"
I look at her. I'm not convinced, but she's not entirely wrong. I do not want to talk about Zara with someone who didn't know her and who doesn’t understand what our relationship was like. Since she died, I've been pretending that I'm just angry. That's what I told myself, and it's what I told my family. They’ve allowed me my surliness, the distance, and my anger. They’ve given me space to grieve. But deep inside I am more than just angry and I’m not really grieving.
“I'm scared that her death was my fault. That I drove her to do what she did and I don't have the right to hate her for it.”
I feel her hand on my forearm, and I look down at it. It's as beautiful as the rest of her. And then I look at her face and see that she's hungry for this conversation.
She looks me in the eye and smiles gently. It completely transforms her face. She is still beautiful, but that smile, as it reaches her eyes, makes her look ethereal.
"Okay,” she says, her voice gentle and alluring. "Keep going. Or…do you want me to go first?”
"Fine, but no more talk about fate, and no psychobabble. I'll go first." I try to sound stern and unaffected. Her smile grows even wider.
I say a silent prayer that I don't regret this. She's already led me on a merry chase, already has me tied up in knots. But she's right. After this trip, I won't see her again. I tamp down the spike of sadness that makes me feel and start talking.
9
Lilly
Being trapped in an elevator with Harry went from feeling like a nightmare to feeling like an opportunity. When he put his arms around me, I was prepared for my panic to hit full scale. But instead, I felt safe. It was the first time a man had held me to comfort me in so long. And it felt so nice. Almost too nice.
When he started talking and mentioned his dead fiancée, something in his voice was startlingly familiar. And it took me from feeling vulnerable to feeling like I'd been thrown a life line. It may have been selfish for me to push him to talk, but I thought this might be my chance to tell my story to someone who I’d never have to face again.
He sits back down on the floor, and I join him, sitting right next to him. I make myself remain silent while I wait for him to talk. I glance at his profile and again marvel at how handsome he is. I push that thought aside because it's a total waste of time. I'm not in a place where I should be admiring anybody. When he touched my face in the lobby, it felt so good. I'm embarrassed that he saw me leaving with that man. I would have let Mr. Mediocre fuck me, but that's all I've got to give right now. I know already that sex with Harry couldn't be just that.
"We grew up next door to each other." He starts talking and pulls me out of my reverie. "Our union was sort of… for lack of a better word, pre-ordained. And it didn’t require much effort on my part. She was beautiful, smart, well-educated and really excited about us being together. When I moved home after university, our mothers set us up. We went on a blind date."
"Wait, how do you go on a blind date with someone you've known your whole life?" I interrupt.
“I hadn't seen her since I went away to college. So, we grew up together, but I didn't even remember what she looked like." He flicks me an irritated glance. “No questions, remember?”
"Sorry, gosh," I mutter.
"Anyway, it was fine, we had a good time. We kept seeing each other. After three years, I asked her to marry me. I felt like it was time, and you know, like it was meant to be. We agreed on a long engagement, planned to get married eighteen months after our mothers started planning the wedding. I worked for my family business and was busy learning the ropes, and she was involved in a lot of local charities and was busy planning fundraisers, volunteering and whatever else she did."
He sighs and tips his head sideways to look at me. "You know, I didn't really know much about what else she did. God, what a disaster we were. From the beginning," he says, his eyes full of misery. I put my hand on his arm, and surprisingly, he covers it with his. The most remarkable thing about this moment is that it doesn't scare me or make me want to pull away.
"She said she was going away with her best friend. They were spending a week in Naples, soaking up the sun and drinking lots of wine. And I barely kissed her goodbye when she left. In fact, I felt relieved that she was gone. It meant I could focus on work without worrying about entertaining her. "
My eyebrows shoot to the top of my hairline at that, but I don't say a word. He looks at me like he can hear my thoughts anyway and gives me a humorless smile.
"I know how it sounds. And I won't even pretend that I didn't mean it. I did. She wasn't a priority, more like an obligation, and I regret every second of that relationship. I knew for months that I didn’t really want to marry her, but I didn't have the courage to tell anyone."
He looks at our joined hands, but his stare is blank.
"She’d been gone for four days when I got a call from my best friend, William. It was early on a Wednesday morning, and it wasn't unusual for us to talk during the week. So, I answered, unprepared for anything out of the ordinary." He runs a hand through his hair, closing his eyes for a minute and taking a deep breath, as if to steel himself.
