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I waited for emotion—any emotion—to set in, but other than a brief pinch when I passed one of our photoshoot spots, I only felt numb. I couldn’t even summon anger or concern over the possible implosion of my father’s company.
Too much had happened, and my brain refused to work properly.
I was an actress living someone else’s life, untouched by the chaos rolling in overhead.
For now, at least.
I wandered the park until the sun set. Even in my zombified state, I knew better than to stay in the park alone after dark.
I climbed into the nearest cab, opened my mouth to tell the driver to take me to The Carlyle, and ended up giving him Sloane’s address instead.
The thought of spending the night in an impersonal hotel room finally sparked a flicker of panic.
I arrived at Sloane’s apartment twenty minutes later. She answered after the second doorbell ring, took one look at my luggage and ringless finger, and ushered me inside without a word.
I sank onto the couch while she disappeared into the kitchen.
Now that I wasn’t alone anymore, feeling crept back in.
The ache in my arms from dragging my suitcase all day. The blisters on my feet from walking in my expensive but impractical shoes. The gaping,excruciatinghollow in my chest where my heart used to beat, healthy and whole.
Now, the organ lurched like a car on its last fumes, struggling to return somewhere it’d never belonged.
I blinked away the pressure mounting behind my eyes when Sloane returned with a mug and a pack of my favorite lemon butter cookies in hand.
We sat in silence for a second before she spoke. “Do I need to sharpen my knives and prepare contingency plans for a homicide charge?”
I mustered a weak laugh. “No. Nothing quite that drastic.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Her gaze narrowed. “What happened?”
“I…Dante and I broke up.” Another piece of my earlier numbness splintered into a painful throb.
“I gathered as much.” Sloane’s reply was matter of fact, not sarcastic. “What did the fucker do?”
“It wasn’t his fault. Not entirely.” I managed to summarize the day’s events without breaking down, but my voice cracked toward the end.
I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of this…I had to protect my family…this is just business.
Another splinter, this one large enough to knock the breath out of my lungs. The pressure behind my eyes amplified.
To Sloane’s credit, she didn’t fall into dramatics over the shocking revelations. It wasn’t her style, and it was one of the reasons I’d come to her instead of Isabella. As much as I loved Isa, she’d want to know every detail and rehash the situation ad nauseam. I didn’t have the energy or emotional bandwidth for that right now.
“Okay, so the engagement is officially off, which means we need a plan,” Sloane said crisply. “We’ll call the wedding vendors in the morning and cancel. It might be too late for a full refund, but I’m sure I can convince most, if not all, of them to issue partial reimbursements. Actually…” She pursed her lips. “Scratch that. We need to draft language for the breakup announcement first. We don’t want any of the vendors leaking to the press. The society papers will be all over this, and—”
“Sloane.” My hands strangled my mug. Every word out of her mouth ratcheted my anxiety up another notch. “Can we discuss this later? I appreciate the help, but I can’t…I can’t think about all of that right now.”
The enormity of the next few weeks overwhelmed me. I had to move the rest of my belongings out of Dante’s house, confront my father, figure out where my relationship with him went from here, cancel the wedding, and deal with the public fallout of my broken engagement. On top of all that, the Legacy Ball was in less than a week, and we were entering another busy season for events.
Cold sweat broke out on my forehead, and I forcibly dragged air through my nose to slow down my frantic heartbeat.
Sloane’s face softened.
“Right. Of course.” She cleared her throat. “Do you want me to call Isa? She’s much better at…this”—she gestured vaguely around us—“than I am.”
“Later. I just want to shower and sleep, if you don’t mind.” I stared at my tea, feeling stupid and ashamed and embarrassed and a thousand other things in between. “I’m sorry for showing up without warning like this. I just…didn’t want to be by myself tonight.”
“Vivian.” Sloane placed her hand over mine, her voice firm. “You don’t need to apologize. Stay as long as you want. My guest room wasn’t getting much use, anyway. You, Isabella, and the maintenance guy are the only people I allow in my apartment.”
