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Travis rushed inside the cabin, cheeks flushed and looking breathless. “Lizz,” he whispered. “I need your feminine touch.”
“Travis, I need to tell you something. I—”
“That can wait,” he said. “Enzo is outside, but the little asshole is refusing to talk to Mrs. Glass. He thinks I’m setting him up for some kind of elaborate prank.”
Enzo was here? My chest tightened. Maybe there was still a chance this could go according to plan. Maybe I didn’t need to admit to Travis I’d just forked over the flash drive and its contents to Adrian, either.
“Okay, I’ll try. Where is he?”
“Wandering around outside last time I saw him. C’mon.”
35
CAROLINE GLASS
The party was winding down. I leaned out over the back balcony and sighed. I’d hoped this would lift my spirits, and maybe it had, but now that it was ending I could feel my thoughts returning to the old wound.
I thought about the countless conversations I’d had with Brandon over the last months. All he could ever think about was revenge. I hardly recognized him anymore. My husband had never been perfect. Far from it, in fact. But there was a time in the early days when I could at least admire him—his ambition and drive. Maybe he was never particularly loving or romantic, but he was a man I could respect. I’d convinced myself that was enough.
Now he was a shell of who he was. Without a company to run, he poured his energy into the idea that punishing the people who exposed him would somehow fix things. I knew it wouldn’t do anything but reveal he was still just as empty, but I hoped it would let me feel like he saw me again. Maybe if I helped him put this in the past, we could work on ourselves and he would stop being so single-minded.
Except even that felt like a faltering, false hope. Maybe that’s why my spirits were so low lately. What was the end game? I wasn’t a spring chicken anymore. Far from it. Did I really want to spend the twilight of my life trying to fix a marriage that was always going to be heavily flawed at best? And how much longer would Brandon be in jail?
My thoughts were interrupted when I noticed movement in my garden. The garden was on the lower level beneath the patio deck. It had grown into something beautiful over the years and was one of my favorite places.
I squinted, then realized I recognized the man bending over my Winter Iris and Snowdrops, sniffing deeply and gently touching the plants. Enzo? What in the world was he doing here?
I rushed down the steps of my patio, heart pounding. I didn’t know why seeing him should make me feel so… flushed. I saw him a few times a week in the gym, after all. The man was the only reason I stayed in good shape, even if I’d die before admitting that to a living soul.
“Enzo?” I asked.
He startled, pulling back from the flowers and looking embarrassed. “Sorry, Caroline. I got an invitation and I thought it must’ve been a mistake, but I…”
“You came,” I said, reaching to take his hands, smiling.
He met my eyes with that old, familiar twinkle. Long ago—long before he’d lost his hair and age had changed him, I’d looked into those same eyes and felt the thrill of possibility. I’d wondered at what futures we might have together. And I’d chosen my ambitions instead of the potential with him. “And now I’m glad I did,” he said.
“What do you think of it?” I asked, gesturing to my garden. “I planted it all with my own hands.”
He took another look, moving slowly among the plants and trellises with their hanging foliage. “Daylilies, hibiscus, cannas, and… Ah,” he laughed, smiling until the creases in his eyes bloomed outward and down his cheeks. “These verbena are absolutely gorgeous.”
I gently touched the petals, not taking my eyes from Enzo. “I had expert guidance on how to plant it all.”
Enzo looked up, meeting my eyes. I saw the realization spreading there. He looked around again through my garden, mentally cataloging each plant species and most likely realizing they were all species he’d talked to me about at the gym. It was one of his favorite topics. He’d talk about the little tricks he’d learned to help them grow and update me on how his favorites were doing.
“I didn’t think…” he said, trailing off. His eyes grew misty, and I smiled, reaching up to touch them.
“This is one of my favorite places. Sometimes I come out here and I close my eyes. I imagine this…” I bit my lip. If I said the rest, there would be no turning back, would there? But did I want to turn back? Or did I want to plunge into this unknown future head-first and see where it took me?
