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Chapter 35
Sammi
4:20 PM SATURDAY
I stand up like Spartacus before the fucking Romans and level a finger at the weed-thieving monkey currently headed toward the balcony with an entire kilo of Mary Jane.
“Catch that fucking monkey,” I announce, zero goddamn context. “That little bastard stole my award!”
Well.Stolemight not be the most accurate statement. My dumb, drunk ass gave it to the monkey, and the monkey took it to do who-fucking-knows with it.
For all I know, the symbol of the only thing I’ve donerightsince being in Bangkok could be on the roof, stuck in the elevator, hidden beneath that pile of Percy and Mysti May’s pussy ping-pong balls, or at the bottom of the Chao Phraya by now.
But whatever happened to it, one thing’s for sure: I want it back.
Maybe I’m just stalling. I consider it as I dive at the monkey across the living room floor, my fists narrowly missing the opportunity to close around its mangy little tail. It’s entirely possible that I’m focusing all of my energy, my emotions, and my rage at this poor little monkey, wherever the hell it came from, so I don’t have to think about anything else.
Like the fact that I really did marry Lock last night.
Or the fact that I told him I loved him. Over and over again. And he said it back.
And we both meant it.
I might be trying to distract myself from the fact that I brought him back here with me. That we laughed and fucked and—no, not even fucked. We made love out on the balcony, and he held me in his arms.
I’m definitely trying to ignore the fact that I didn’t want to forget what I forgot. That every clue I tracked down today and every memory I collected and recollected—that all of that was pushing me closer and closer to this inevitability that at this point, even I can’t deny.
I fell in love with Lock last night. Or maybe I feel in love with him three years ago on yet another wild, drunken night.
Christ, maybe I’ve always loved him. Maybe soulmates really do exist and fate is real, everything happens for a reason and all of this—every hateful, infuriating, insane chaotic moment—maybe all of it was building to this from the start.
From the moment our ancestors crawled out of the ocean and onto land.
From the very point in time when the elements that make up our bodies were released from exploding stars.
I’ve been looking at last night as a mistake.
Or rather, I’ve been looking at is as aseriesof mistakes. A cart full of horseshit and bad decisions that only picked up speed as it rolled downhill. A fistful offuck yousto my master plan.
But now, I’m wondering if maybe this wasn’t the way it was meant to be. Or, if nothing else, maybe it was the best possible outcome.
Lock and Sammi. Sammi and Lock.
Samira Williams-Brighton.
Mrs. Lachlan Williams.
It sounds a hell of a lot better thanMrs. Eggbert Humphrey, at any rate.
So, okay. Say that it was all meant to be. Say that love really does exist beyond my scheming and calculations. Say that I really do love Lock.
What now?
I feel bad for punching him in the nose, for one.
And for stealing his motorcycle.
And definitely for pushing him in the river.
