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Physical pain could dull emotional pain.
I wasn’t one for self-mutilation, but just this once, I understood the need for that kind of relief, that kind of distraction from the swirling void inside.
I didn’t leave a note.
I didn’t leave anything.
Except, of course, a part of me I had given to him, a part of me I hadn’t known I could give to a man.
But he had it.
And I would have to figure out how to go on without it.
ELEVEN
Fenway
“What do you mean, she’s gone?” Alvy asked, having taken one step into the suite I had been pacing for almost an hour waiting on them to get there.
“I mean she took all of her luggage and left,” I told them, raking a hand through my hair, barely able to think through the breakneck pace of my head, jumping from one conclusion to another.
“Did she take anything?” Alvy asked.
“I just told you she took her luggage,” I reminded them, frustrated, needing them to be on their game when I was clearly spiraling.
“I meant anything of yours, Fenway,” Alvy clarified. “Did she take your wallet? Cards? Those diamond cufflinks?”
“So that was it,” I said, voice going low, cutting, foreign enough to Alvy that they straightened.
“What is?” they asked.
“The argument you and Wasp had. She said she told you she wouldn’t talk about it, so she wouldn’t give me any details. That’s what it was about. You insinuated that she wanted me for my money.”
“It is a valid question for someone with your income, Fenway,” Alvy reasoned.
The thing was, they weren’t exactly wrong. That was the ugly part about all of this. You did have to be on your toes. You did have to suspect ulterior motives when someone got close to you fast.
Clichés were a cliché for a reason.
Rich men attracted trust fund chasers.
It was just part of the gig.
That said, it never felt great to think that was all someone saw when they looked at you.
The idea of Wasp seeing dollar signs when she was with me made bile rise up in my throat.
“That wasn’t your place, Alvy,” I told them, watching as their chin lifted a bit, refusing to back down.
“You wouldn’t do it for yourself.”
“No,” I agreed. “And maybe I never would have. But that would have been my decision. If I ended up led by the throat to an altar without a prenup, that would be my business.”
“You couldn’t have been seriously thinking about marrying that woman,” Alvy said, shaking their head. “You don’t even know her real name.”
“And now, it seems, I never will.”
“It wasn’t my fault, Fenway,” Alvy insisted. “If she was going to leave about our disagreement, she would have left immediately. Not three days later.”
They weren’t wrong about that. The timing did seem off. As did the fact that she didn’t say anything. Wasp liked having the last say. She liked letting people know she was coming out on top. She was competitive by nature—something I’d learned after making the mistake of playing cards with her one night on the yacht, getting my ass kicked mercilessly as she gloated.
If she was leaving to make some sort of point, she would have woken me up, made her declaration, then sauntered her sweet ass out of the suite in those skyscraper heels she loved so much, leaving me salivating after her.
She would have loved that.
It was just her style.
Sneaking out while I was sleeping?
That was a coward’s move.
Wasp would hate to be called a coward.
She would despise that being her legacy.
So why would she do it?
“Are you sure she didn’t take anything?” Alvy pressed.
“I’m sure,” I insisted, not having actually checked, not needing to. She didn’t take anything. Except, I was starting to worry, a piece of me.
“Then why leave? Without saying anything?”
“That’s what I am trying to figure out.”
“Do you know how long she’s been gone?”
“I have no idea. We went to bed around midnight. I got up at six. Anytime in that window.”
So she could have been well and gone.
On a plane heading who-the-hell-knew-where.
Likely never to be seen again.
“You look like someone kicked your puppy,” Alvy observed, eyes piercing.
“I believe the impossible has happened, Alvy,” I declared, going over toward the line of liquor bottles on a sideboard, twisting the top off a bottle of Scotch, filling a glass. “I think I might have fallen for her,” I admitted, saluting them with my drink before throwing it back.
“Shit,” Alvy hissed, reaching up to rub the back of their neck.
“Yeah,” I agreed, nodding. “That about covers it,” I agreed, going back for seconds.
“You’re sure you haven’t fallen for her like you did that movie star? Like the mafia guy’s wife? Like the hotel heiress?”
“Little infatuations,” I told them, throwing an arm out, nearly sloshing my drink all over the floor. “This? This was different. She was different.”
“Alright. So, what kind of different was she?” Alvy asked.
