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This was perhaps why when the man approached them and said her name, Brea didn’t register it. Not at first.
Oriana leaped up to hug him, crying his name. Brea blinked at him, at the handsome Manhattan face, the sleek hair, and the sharp suit. It was Nick, Oriana’s dear friend from the city.Why was he here?
“Brea,” Nick began, his hand over his chest. “I am so sorry for your loss.”
Brea stood on shaky legs and hugged him, remembering all the nights Nick had managed to “nix” Brea from club guest lists so that he could have Oriana all to himself. He’d seen Oriana as the heavier hitter in the art world, the one to know, while Brea had been just an intern. Why was he rubbing shoulders with Brea now?Was it because of her recent high-figure art deals? Probably.
“Thank you for coming,” Oriana said, patting Nick’s shoulder. “Can I get you something to eat? A drink?”
The sight of Nick shot adrenaline through Brea’s system. Quietly, she followed behind them to the kitchen, where Oriana ordered Nick to update them on his life as she poured him a glass of scotch and prepared him a plate of food. Nick spoke of the city with tremendous love yet insisted that it wasn’t half as good now that “his girls” were gone.
“Brea, you should come back to the city,” Nick suggested. “Change things up for yourself and for your career.”
Brea raised her shoulders. It wasn’t the worst idea in the world, starting over. Then again, going back to the city meant reliving the trauma of Kenny’s original illness and her quest to make money in any way possible.What if she ran into Neal again?Oh gosh. She just couldn’t take it.
As Oriana finished Nick’s plate, Brea was suddenly overcome with just how kind Oriana was, how giving. For more than two years, Brea had lied to her, manipulated her, and used her credentials to make herself a fat wad of cash. Oh gosh. She couldn’t get over how wrong that was now.
And, perhaps because of her grief, insanity, or fear, Brea said, “Oriana? Can I talk to you? Maybe in the study?”
Oriana tilted her head but smiled a split-second later, eager to do whatever she could to make Brea’s life easier. “Nick? Your plate’s ready for you. Brea and I will be right back.”
Brea led Oriana into the study and closed the door behind them. Sweat sprung up in her armpits, along her neck, and she paced nervously, willing herself to say the thing she’d come to say.
“Brea? What’s going on?” Oriana was worried. Probably, she thought this was her friend’s psychotic break at her husband’s wake. She’d probably been expecting it.
Finally, Brea turned around, looked Oriana in the eye, and blurted, “I stole a painting from you to pay for Kenny’s transplant.”
Oriana’s eye’s widened in shock. Nobody spoke for a long, horrible moment, and Brea thought maybe she hadn’t said anything, that she’d imagined it.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Oriana finally sputtered.
Brea raised her shoulders. “That first painting. The four-million-dollar sale. The one you ultimately gave Walter was a forgery.”
Oriana’s face twisted with rage. “I don’t understand. Brea? What are you saying?”
The self-hatred that Brea swirled in was no different than the self-hatred she’d felt since it had happened.
“For so long, I thought I’d done the right thing,” Brea said. “Because Kenny got better, our careers took off, and then we moved here together. But now, Kenny is dead. And I don’t imagine I’ll ever want to sell a piece of art ever again. So.” Brea clapped her thighs, realizing she’d just thrown their friendship off a cliff. There was no way it would survive this.
Oriana turned away from Brea, rasping into her hand. “I can’t look at you right now.” Her shoulders shook violently.
Brea’s eyes were heavy with tears, so much so that she could hardly see through them. After she tried to sputter an apology, she fled the study, rushed through the kitchen, then went out the back door of her home, where she inhaled the ten-degree air and felt her tears against her cheeks. Oh, how she loved Oriana. Oh, how she loved this house and this island.
But at this moment, she knew she had to get as far away from Martha’s Vineyard as she could. She would put the house on the market as soon as possible. It was the only way.
ChapterTwenty-Two
Present Day
The morning after Oriana and Brea returned from Thailand, a letter awaited on the front porch— this time addressed to both of them. Reese picked it up and put it on the breakfast table, smiling.
“Who’s this from?”
Oriana grabbed it a little too quickly, searching for something to say. “It’s probably from a friend of Brea’s. We contacted a few people on our way back home.”
“Everyone wants to welcome Brea back!” Reese said breezily as he opened up the newspaper. “I’ve missed her so much over the years. Doesn’t having her around make you feel twenty-two again?”
Upstairs, Oriana and Brea locked Brea’s guest room door and ripped open the envelope. The note said:
