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“Lynn put an Ambien in that drink,” Patrick says quietly. “I’m almost positive that’s why you got so drunk.”
For a few moments, the only sounds are the rumble of the engine and the swish of the road. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to feel, either—betrayal, obviously. Embarrassment. Finally, vindication. I knew Lynn was a bitch.
“Did Lynntellyou, or did you figure it out?” I finally ask.
“She told me she gave someone Ambien, but she wouldn’t say who. I put two and two together.” The car halts again at a light, and he turns to me with a look so sincere I feel a flip in my chest. “She’s crazy, Kit. There’s always been something about her that’s off.” His throat judders as he swallows. “She could havekilledyou.”
“Wait a minute.” My heart stops. “Do you think Lynn knows about...us?”
Patrick shakes his head. “I doubt it.”
“But you’re not sure. Shecouldknow. She could have known at the benefit, even. She could have been out to hurt more than just me that night.”
His eyes widen at what I’ve just suggested. “Are you thinking maybeshestabbed your husband in revenge?” He runs his hands through his hair. “Jesus. I never thought of that.”
We whizz through three green lights in a row. I almostwantLynn to be the murderer—then she would go to jail. Justice would be done. It would free up Patrick, too, though I feel dirty recognizing this silver lining.
Finally, Patrick stops in a parking lot and shifts into park. About five minutes have passed since we got into the car—he is making good on his promise of not keeping me long. I feel disappointed. Maybe I’ve misinterpreted his intentions. Maybe he really is just trying to warn me.
He reaches into the side pocket on the door of the car and pulls out a small, gray, handled bag from a jewelry shop whose name I recognize but have never visited. “This is for you. I saw it, and I realized you had to have it.”
I back away as though it’s made of poison. “What are you doing? Don’t give me things.”
He drops it in my lap. “Open it. Seriously. I’m not taking it back.”
“You should be with your wife. Your family.” As much as I hate Lynn right now, I can’t take her husband away from her.
“You’re going through a lot,” Patrick says. “And I feel guilty about what Lynn did. And... well, I’m unhappy, Kit. Miserable, in fact. I can’t stop thinking about you.Us.”
“Patrick...”
He leans toward me just as he did that day at the bar—with interest, with need. Maybe I’m too exhausted not to pull away, but if I am honest, he entrances me—his sadness, his wanting, the way he seems so bedazzled by me. So I lean in, too. Our lips crash into one another, and it is everything I’ve yearned for. I push harder into him, moaning, spinning, my heart thundering. When Patrick pulls away, I can feel tears on my face that I can’t explain. He looks at them worriedly, but I just wipe them away and laugh. I’m upset. I’m joyful. I’m ambiguous.
When our phones start pinging, we look at one another mournfully. “Back to work,” I say quietly. I already feel the ache of his absence. By his expression, I can tell Patrick feels the same.
He nudges his chin toward the jewelry box still on my lap. “Go on. See what I got for you.”
I let out one more note of protest, but it seems clear that Patrick isn’t taking no for an answer. Slowly, I open the box. I gasp at all the diamonds twinkling at me and shut it tight, glaring at him. “Jesus,” I whisper. “Why?”
He grins boyishly, grabbing the box from me and lifting the bracelet off the velvet. The chain is delicate, and the diamonds are plentiful and flawless. “It’s a bracelet fit for a queen. Didn’t you say you were part royalty?”
I try to speak, but I have no words. Is it possible our coming togetherisfate? Can I allow my brain to go there?
I reach for him, then pull away. Maybe I’ve been too burned.Maybe I need to sort out my feelings about Greg, which are still largely unexplored.
Or maybe I should just take the leap. Maybe the third time is the charm.
And so I stretch out my hand once more, and Patrick takes it. And then I lean toward him, living out the fantasy I haven’t been able to get out of my brain since the day we met.
25
RAINA
WEDNESDAY, MAY 3, 2017
That evening, I walk down a hallway of an old brick apartment building. The air smells like garbage. A light above me flickers, threatening to go out. A couple screams behind one of the doors; from another, I hear death metal.
I find apartment 22 and knock. On the other side, I hear the metallic clink of a latch being undone. The door opens, and here is Alexis. Not a resident of Hudson dorm, as she first told me. Not even a student at Aldrich University, period. The Facebook page she created, the one I fell for hook, line, and sinker? It’s all a lie. Even her style has changed—today, instead of crisp Tory Burch and Burberry everything, she wears a ripped cotton T-shirt and threadbare skinny jeans. Her eyeliner is thicker, messier; her hair falls across her face. And yet I still find her hot. Even though she could ruin me.
