I want to scream and rewind time to before I ever got on that plane.
But I can’t do either of those things. So I just sit there, staring at this stranger who’s apparently my husband, and try to figure out how my life became this mess.
“I need time,” I finally say. “I need to think.”
“Take all the time you need.” He straightens and buttons his jacket. “But, Savannah? We are married. That’s not changing. So figure out how you want to handle it, but running won’t work this time. I’ll find you again.”
It should sound threatening. Instead, it sounds like he’s making a promise he won’t back down on.
He walks to the door, then pauses. “For what it’s worth? You were the one who suggested we get married. Not me. You wanted this.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m alone in the conference room with a marriage certificate and a head full of fragments that don’t quite fit together.
My voice recording. I pull up the voice memo from that night, but there’s nothing after winning that plane ticket and going home to pack. Nothing. That was my last recording of the night.
“What were you thinking?” I ask my past self.
But she doesn’t answer. She never does.
All I have are the pieces she left behind and a husband I don’t remember marrying.
7
LEDGER
She thinksI don’t notice.
I’m standing at my office window on the forty-second floor, coffee in hand, watching Savannah through the glass walls of the marketing department three floors down. She’s at her desk, head bent over her laptop, completely unaware that I can see her from here.
She’s been taking the south stairwell instead of the main elevators for five days now. Working through lunch at her desk instead of going to the cafeteria and leaving at 8:00 PM when she thinks I’ve gone home.
She’s avoiding me.
It’s driving me insane.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. When I pull it out, Alexi’s name glows on the screen.
Coming by the office. Lunch?
I text back:Yes.My office. Noon.
Savannah stands and stretches, then glances toward the elevators like she’s checking if the coast is clear. When she’s satisfied, she grabs her bag and heads for the south stairwell.
I smile despite myself. She’s stubborn. I’ll give her that.
My wife is stubborn. The thought still feels surreal. I’ve been married for nearly a month, and my wife doesn’t remember marrying me.
But she will. I’ll make sure of it.
Alexi walks into my office at noon, looking like he just rolled out of bed. Jeans, a T-shirt, hair still wet from the shower.
“You look terrible,” I tell him.
“Late night.” He grins and drops into the chair across from my desk. “Elena wanted to try this new club in Brooklyn. We didn’t get home until four AM.”
“Elena?”
“The girl I’m seeing. I told you about her.”
