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Nicola’s eyes are bloodshot, yesterday’s makeup smeared beneath her lower lids. Dash slips his arm around her, pulling her against him.
Dorian wears a shell-shocked expression on his face, his gaze averted.
“I’m so sorry,” I say to them. “This is so awful.”
Nicola shoots me a look.
Dorian ignores me.
Burke slips his hand into mine and steers me closer to him, a silent hint for me to console him, I suppose. I imagine he feels the desperation to sell “us” now more than ever.
“If there’s anything I can do, please let me know,” I say. But again, my words fall on deaf ears. I don’t hold it against them, though. They’re in mourning. They’re devastated. They don’t owe anyone anything. “I’m happy to make phone calls if you’d like.”
Nicola peels her cheek from her husband’s cashmere-sweater-covered chest and shoots me a cold look. On second thought, I imagine they have people who can do that for them . . . people who’ve known the family longer than a couple of weeks.
Two nurses exit Redmond’s room with somber faces, pulling the door closed behind them.
One of them places a magnet on the door, one depicting a single burning candle.
The five of us stand in silence for what feels like forever, nothing but beeping monitors and nurses’-station chatter filling the background.
From the corner of my eye, I steal a glimpse of Dorian, replaying my conversation with Audrina in my head. His hair is messy, and his clothes are wrinkled, and he’s still the most beautiful, broken thing I’ve ever seen. For a second, his lower lip trembles, but he reins it in. A moment later, he walks away without uttering a single word to anyone.
My heart breaks for him.
But also for us.
A month ago, he loved me.
If only he knew . . . I never stopped loving him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
DORIAN
Present Day
I hang the rented suit on the back of my guest room door for Yvette to return, and I tug the zipper around my suitcase. Crazy to think this might be the last time I’ll set foot on these grounds. I’m on the fence as to whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing. This place haunts my dreams when I’m not here, filled with some of the happiest moments of my life—but also all the worst moments.
A shadow passing by the doorway catches my eye. I turn to look when said shadow stops moving.
“Hi.” It’s Briar. She rests her cheek against the whitewashed trim as she studies me. “You’re leaving already?”
Her voice is cashmere, and her eyes are glimmering, and she hasn’t stopped staring at me all week, though she’s yet to say more than a handful of clichéd lines, asking if I’m okay.
I don’t know why she cares. Burke should be the recipient of her unneeded sympathies.
With my back to her, I do whatever it takes to appear like I’m too preoccupied with my luggage to pay her any mind.
The floor creaks as she makes her way to the bed, taking it upon herself to curl up on the foot of it. She draws her knees against her chest, wraps her arms around them, and sighs.
“You’ve been so quiet,” she says. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“You’ve asked me that a million times already. Kind of getting old . . .”
“I know,” she says. “Nic has Dash. Burke has me. Who’s checking on you?”
“For the record, you’re under no obligation to be that person.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged before? When we first met?” she asks. “You were all antimarriage from the second you sat down. When Audrina told me what happened . . .”
Her voice tapers off as if she expects me to fill in the blanks or take the lead, but I have nothing to say. Audrina is neither here nor there, and while Briar is here, she might as well be there too.
“Audrina told me why she broke it off with Burke.” Briar traces her fingertip along a pattern in the quilt before flicking her bright gaze to me.
“I don’t mean to interrupt.” Yvette knocks on the open door, then clasps her hands at her hips. Despite her bloodshot, swollen eyes, she’s still as put together as always, still running a tight ship, as if the old man were here to supervise. “But your boat’s at the dock, Dorian.”
She spots the rented suit hanging behind the door and adjusts the plastic cover until it’s perfectly protected.
“Thank you,” I tell her.
She gives a terse nod and some semblance of a smile before disappearing. I’ve tried to check on her a handful of times this week, but all she does is assure me she’s fine before changing the subject to something related to her duties.
“You’re really leaving?” Briar asks. “Now?”
In a few hours, I’ll be flying out of Boston, en route to Jacksonville, to meet up with the band and rejoin the tour. After Jacksonville, we’re heading to Atlanta, then making a few other stops up the coast in the days that follow. As long as I’m anywhere but here, I’m golden.
