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“And then I’d go home, maybe cry a little, and move on.”
“With me.”
“With you,” I affirm. My left thumb finds the gold engagement ring inlaid with a single emerald and turns it on my finger. Fiddling with my ring is a habit I’ve fallen into. It’s as if I have to constantly check it’s there, check that my new life is real.
“And what’s more likely to happen?” Aiden asks.
“My dad will be happy to see me.”
He nods but doesn’t say anything. He waits quietly as I take a deep in-out breath.
Finally, I say, “Okay. I’m ready.”
Aiden places his palm on my thigh, just above my knee, and gives my leg a small squeeze. “I’ll be there with you. Always.” And, leaning out the window, he presses the button on the intercom.
The ring echoes through. It’s the same sound it’s always been, a happy, brassy dum-dum that takes me back to years that seem so simple now. How different life would have been if, as a teen, I’d just had the security and self-assurance I do now. Howeasylife would have been.
“Ready?”
I look at Aiden. He’s watching me, his eyes dark with concern. And I think about how a simple, easy life wouldhave led me farther and farther away from him. And I find that I’m thankful for the years between that simple life and now. The years that brought our butterflies closer and closer together until they had no choice but to bump into one another. “Yes, I’m ready.”
“Hello?” Winston’s voice sounds through the intercom.
And I find that I can’t speak. I just sit there.
“LAPD.” Aiden covers for me, holding his badge to the camera.
Winston knows that the LAPD has no jurisdiction in Beverly Hills, but he must be curious because the gates swing open.
He starts down the long driveway slowly. When we turn the tree-lined corner, and the giant mansion comes into view, he doesn’t even look. He watchesme. “Any time you need to leave, just let me know. Okay?”
But my heart is in my throat and all I can do is nod as I stare at the proud Dutch Gable home filling my viewshed.
Three luxury cars are parked outside in a neat row. A blackMaseratiSUV, aRollsRoycetown car, and aBentley. All new. All spotlessly clean, glistening under the afternoon sun.
Aiden parks next to theBentleyand gets out as the front door to the house opens.
I don’t move.
I can’t.
Winston’s large frame fills the doorway. He’s dressed in a pinstriped day suit, his beard and mustache, once black as tar, are now salt and pepper. He raises a hand to shade his eyes, and, although he doesn’t move from the front door, I can see him studying Aiden, his brow notched in confusion.
Aiden walks around to the passenger side of the SUV and opens my door. He doesn’t say anything. He holds out his hand and waits for me to slide my fingers into his before helping me out.
We move forward together.
I am looking at my family’s concierge, the man who never stopped lying to my father to try and get me out of trouble, even when he probably should have. I see his face blanche. I notice the shocked step back he takes as if he needs the protection of the house.
I stop.
Aiden stops.
Everything stops.
Time doesn’t move for any of us as we pause to come to terms with what’s happening.
And then suddenly, Winston shouts my name, and he starts running towards me, his portly frame moving alarmingly fast, his long legs pumping. He collides with me, nearly taking me down, but Aiden reaches out his hands, steadying us both.
