With a long sigh, she stepped away from the desk and around me to open the door. “You should go. This is a lot to take in, and I need to be alone to doit.”
I grabbed the phone on the desk and slid it off the edge. There was nothing showing in her features, and I couldn’t get a clear read on whether she believed me or not. Maybe she thought I was insane now. I nodded and stepped to the opening. Before I exited, I leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. “Just in case,” Iwhispered.
Her fingers tightened on the door, the knuckles going white. “In case ofwhat?”
I tried to keep the sorrow from my tone as I walked out. “In case you never let me touch youagain.”
I got to the street and walked home. Michael needed some rest, and I needed to clear my head. I’d been alive before Izzy, and I’d be alive after her. Her rejection of me would changenothing.
Except now I had to live with this pit from hell in the bottom of my gut every time I thought about her, or smelled peaches, or walked into my own flat. If she didn’t believe me, she could out me to the board, try to get me kicked off the committee to make decisions for the theater. Even though I owned it, the building was a historical site and run by generalcommittee.
I dove into the memories of Sibyl. All of which had been so fresh since I met Izzy. The last words I’d spoken to her were in anger, me pushing her away, trying to preserve her feelings. I’d failed miserably. I’d have to live with that guilt. And yet, 100 years later, it would seem I hadn’t learned my lesson about women. Izzy could own me, body and soul, if she simply uttered aword.
I made it to my flat as the sun began to peek over the horizon. Standing in the entryway, I replayed the scene from the night before. I’d had her there, all to myself, and I’d blown it. A-fucking-gain.
I slapped my phone onto the shelf by the door and went to the bedroom which was decorated in shades of white and gray that usually soothed me. Today, they only rubbed against my raw nerves. The bedclothes were rumpled but I’d never gone to sleep so they were still tucked tight at the edges. I didn’t bother pulling back the dove-colored linens, instead laying on top before kicking my shoes over the edge to hit the floor with athwack.
Izzy’s words played over in my head like an undeletable voicemail you dug out for a routine pity party.Do you regret that she died?Do you regret that shedied?
Do you regret that shedied?
I stared up at the white ceiling trying to block it all out, but my usual breathing techniques for staying in control failed me. Instead of continuing a futile effort, I rolled to my side and curled up with my hand under thepillow.
In the sixty years I’d been under medical observation, I’d learned that sleep is the body’s rewind button. Anything could be fixed after a good night’s sleep. A good night’s sleep, a hot meal, and ashower.
But maybe those fucking scientists didn’t have 150 years of bad choices rolling around in theirmemories.
8
Izzy
When Gray left,I sat down at my desk and stared at the chair, he’d occupied only seconds before. I stared for twentyminutes.
Everything he had told me was impossible,right?
I wanted to believe him. But my rational brain was fighting me every step of theway.
I lifted a stack of paperwork and dragged my laptop out from underneath. What did I search for? Super-hot immortal billionaire? I dreaded seeing what those search results would turnup.
I opened the laptop and pulled up a search bar. With an exaggerated sigh, I typed in Dorian Gray. Not a single result for my Dorian Gray, almost all of them involved Oscar Wilde. This was never going towork.
I snapped the laptop closed and shoved it back under the paperwork it had been so newly liberatedfrom.
My phone was back at my apartment. A casualty of Gray’s early morning kidnapping and brainmauling.
I plucked at the edge of Jake’s shirt, not liking an idea as it began to take root. Too late, already sprouting leaves and tinyacorns.
I walked back to my apartment as the sun began to filter through the avenues. The early morning crowd shuffling about stared at me as I passed. Like they’d never seen a girl in her pajamas before. I’m sure these Paris streets had seen a lot worse than my worn-inleggings.
When I got to my door, a box sat propped against theframe.
“Damn it, Gray.” I whispered. “This isn’t giving mespace.”
I snatched the box from the floor and grumbled all the way to the kitchen for a knife. The box opened smoothly with a quick slice and I stared down at a leatherbook.
The Picture of DorianGray.
I opened the cover carefully and a slip of paper fluttered to my white granitecountertop.
