“In the grand scheme of things, what’s your signature on a marriage certificate?”
I take a deep breath, mulling over what Ms. Angela just said. “How do you know this?”
“I know a lot of things, honey. Believe me, this one is true.” She lets it sink for a beat, then adds, “I know it rings awfully close to it, but no one’s asking you to sleep with the man.”
My cheeks burn at her words.
That’s the worst part. That he’ll never be mine.
six
Willow
The rain stops, wind clearing the skies. It’s a short drive to the Callaways’ home, up through The Green, left on Elm, then right on Callaway Lane.
Bathed in pale moonlight, Lilyvale stands tall, secluded from the village, opening to the river. The main house is an austere three-story federalist brick framed by a pair of white columns and topped with a gabled roof. Beyond it, a white clapboard aisle with an oversized verandah overlooks the river and ends with a white turret.
Unkempt bushes grow too high, threatening to overtake the first-floor windows. Since Noah’s father died, there’s an air of sadness about Lilyvale that I hadn’t fully realized.
It’s entirely dark save for a rectangle of light pouring from a window near the front of the house. From the coffered ceiling and the top of a high bookshelf, I’ll take a wild guess that this is an office. Feeling drawn to it, I push through the hedge. But thewindowsill is higher than my eyes, and all I can see from where I’m standing is a ceiling, gleaming like a coffin. I jump up and catch a glimpse of Noah hunched over a massive desk, his head in his hands.
I pick up a couple of pebbles and throw one at the window.
Nothing.
I throw another.
Still nothing.
Is he wearing earbuds? I grab a handful now, swing my arm back, and throw with all my might—right as the window opens.
I gasp. Too late. Mortified and helpless, I watch as Noah rears back while I’m temporarily petrified, hiding in the darkness of the bushes.
“Jesus Fucking Christ!” Noah brushes his face and leans on the windowsill. “Show your face, you motherfucking coward!” he hisses.
I step in the light and look up. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think you—”
“Willow? Was that you?” he asks softer, astonishment in his tone.
I writhe. “I was trying to get your attention.”
“You have it.”
“I need to talk to you.”
He pauses, his eyes narrowing. “I’ll meet you at the front.” He closes the window and disappears inside.
The massive front door opens with a creak, then closes on a thump after Noah lets me in. I’m familiar with Lilyvale’s gardens, but it’s the first time I’m inside the mansion. The faint scent of old wood and dust greets me like a favorite sweater. In the darkness of the night, the house seems even larger than I imagined. Noah guides us past a large staircase, its polished wood gleaming.
“Sorry about the pebble attack.” My words echo up the walls.
He glances at me and lifts a shoulder. “It’s fine; you throw like a girl.”
“I do not!”
He chuckles. “Whatever you say.” He pushes a side door and lets me into a massive kitchen. “I was going to have a glass of… something. You care to join?”
“Water is fine. I just came back from game nights.”
