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“Yeah, you too, Deacon,” Noah said dully. The scowl was gone. He sounded like someone lost in a fog.
Deacon gave me a final once over as he stood up. “Sweet Charlotte. A pleasure. Get this guy to the party, all right?” He leaned over me and said in a stage whisper that purposely carried to Noah, “Make sure his pants match his jacket.”
He laughed loudly, his hand stealing a caress of my shoulder before finally leaving.
A silence fell and I was waiting for Noah to tell me how sorry he was his old friend was such a jerk, and that he wasn’t even going to think about going to that party. Instead, he turned his coffee mug around and around.
“What did he mean by the hospital photos?” he asked, his voice low.
My stomach dropped. I saw no point in deflecting, so I told him the truth about the illicit cell phone pics.
“When did you see them? Before you worked for me?”
“Yes.”
“Are they…bad?” He snorted. “What am I saying, of course they’re bad. What else?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, feeling slightly queasy.
“I mean, it’s really damn easy to make a fool out of me these days. Is there anything else floating around out there I don’t know about?”
I was unable and unwilling to start our relationship—or whatever it was—with a lie, omitted or otherwise.
“Lucien told me you have a Camaro. In storage, in Florida. That it’s the love of your life, and that you can’t bring yourself to sell it.”
He nodded, his mouth downturned, his eyes hidden behind the glasses. “Anything else?”
“No. I promise. Are you angry with me?”
Noah’s head shot up. “What? No, babe. Three months ago, yeah, probably. But that would’ve been unfair anyway. The photos are out there. Nothing I can do about it. And my car…” He pursed his lips in a wistful smile. “Not much I can do about that either.”
I reached over and gave his hand a squeeze.
He raised my fingers to his lips. “Let’s get out of here.”
I ushered Noah out of the restaurant after giving Anthony a hug goodbye and a promise to call him later.
We walked back to the townhouse in a silence that stretched throughout the rest of the day. Noah spoke only a handful of distracted words to me, and when he took off the sunglasses, I could see his eyes were full of thoughts, thoughts that he wasn’t sharing with me.
That night, we lay on his bed, and I read fromThe Origin of Silenceby Mendón. Noah lay on his back, his gaze cast up, his fingers laced behind his head.
“Eduardo pressed on the stone and wasn’t surprised when the rock shifted, a door opening on a black chamber. Eduardo took a step and Sara clutched his arm. ‘Don’t.’
“He touched her cheek. ‘I can’t go back, and I can’t stay here. Come with me.’”
I shut the book with a snap, and Noah—finally—turned his face to me.
“Charlotte?”
“Not in the mood for it, I guess.”
Noah turned on his side toward me, and for the first time since Annabelle’s, I felt he was reallywithme. “I’m sorry I’ve been out of it all day. Hearing Deacon talk aboutPlanet Xand about Yuri—my old editor—and all of our friends… Hell, just hearing Deacon’s voice… It was like being catapulted back in time and I’ve been submerged in memories ever since.”
“Understandable,” I said, my fingers flipping the pages of the book, making them flutter. “Are you going to go to that party?”
“You don’t want me to. I can hear it.”
“I don’t like Deacon. I’m sorry, but I don’t, and the whole idea of that Global Ball, or whatever it is, makes me nervous. For you.”
