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Our dreamlike world couldn’t last, of course. Sometime later, when the sun had gone down and the city lights twinkled through the hotel window, Law’s phone rang. I sat up, startled by the noise.
“Ignore it,” Law mumbled, stroking my hair. I lay back onto his chest, but a minute later the phone rang again. And again. And again. Law sighed and answered it on the fifth ring. I watched his face for any sign of emotion, but he betrayed nothing. He gestured for me to return to the nook I’d created between his chest and his arm, and we returned to our dream. For another hour, everything was perfect. Then Law spoke.
“Okay,” Law said into my hair. “This is kind of the worst time in the world to do this…”
“Are you proposing?” I joked. When Law didn’t respond, I quickly added, “I’m just kidding. Don’t freak out.”
“Nami.” Law stood up and separated us, holding my stare for longer than I would have liked. “I love you. I don’t plan on letting you go any time soon, hopefully never. Unfortunately, that’s not what this conversation is about. I have some…news.”
“News?” I shrugged off his gaze and looked at his phone, limp and alone on the nightstand.
Law rubbed his forehead. Looking out the window, he said, “I’m not sure if it’s good or bad.”
I crinkled my brow, not happy about the game he was playing. “Spill it, Law.”
Law looked away from the window and back to me before saying, “I’ve received word that Becca Riley is dead.”
Law’s pronouncement hit me like an avalanche. I hated Becca Riley with everything a person could hate. She’d murdered Raskolnikov, she’d ruined my life, but I didn’t want her dead. Becca was, as Law said, a victim of her circumstance.
“That bastard!” I yelled, standing off the bed. “He did it, didn’t he? He fucking murdered her.” I paced back and forth, rubbing my hands over my hair. Why would he kill her? What did he have to gain? It didn’t matter. Morris was a cold, calculating bastard. He’d probably done it for sport.
“Nami, listen to me.” Law stood up and grabbed me by the shoulders, forcing me to focus. “She killed herself.”
“What?” Another blow landed and I let out my breath. “Are you sure? Morris could make it look like she did.”
“It’s all over the news.” Law let go of me and exhaled. It was a few good seconds before he continued. “They’re running her suicide note. In it she blamed Morris and said he raped her. I don’t think Morris did it.”
“Wow…” That…that was way too much information. I slumped into an armchair, feeling like I’d just run twenty miles. I wanted Morris to get payback, but not that way…
Never that way.
“I know.” Still standing, Law stared at the blank TV, his face a mess of emotion I couldn’t decipher. “We could turn it on, see what they’re saying.”
“Do you really want to see that?” I grimaced at the thought. I could imagine what they were saying and the freaking field day they were having with the new information. The media was like vultures. They would pick apart anything if they thought it would feed their viewers.
“No.” Sitting back on the bed, Law put his head in his hands.
“Hey.” I walked over to Law and lightly touched his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“This is my fault,” he said. “I should have gotten her out when I had the chance. I’m a fucking selfish asshole.”
“This is not your fault.” Just like Law had done with me, I had to make him see he wasn’t responsible. “Becca Riley was a fucked up person and that has nothing to do with you.”
“You don’t know, Nami.” Law took his head out of his hands and turned to me. “Two years ago you wouldn’t have recognized her. She was…” Law shook his head. “I ruined her. I’m a fucker.”
“Did you force her to do any of it?” I pressed.
“No,” Law conceded.
“Then it was her choice and you can’t take responsibility for that.” Law nodded, but the sentiment was hollow. It would take a while for him to realize he wasn’t responsible, and I knew a
little about that.
I linked my arm in his and followed his gaze out the window to the cold twinkling lights of Salt Lake City. From our perch, the lights were anonymous, just like from the plane. It was easy to pretend that they were stardust, not people picking apart Becca Riley’s death.
Becca’s death had, well, kind of killed the mood. Since we hadn’t eaten anything since the plane ride home from Boston, we decided to go out and get dinner. We entered the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby, the ride down much less exciting than the ride up had been. We held each other for comfort this time, not lust. When the doors dinged open, neither of us expected what lay on the other side.
Reporters swarmed us. Lightbulbs flashed. Questions flew. It was complete and utter chaos.
