Or would I?
I imagine her slipping and falling in the champagne bubbles, hair weave flying as she hits her head and bleeds out on the kitchen tile while I watch. It’s dark, but this woman brings out the worst in me. We look so much alike—from behind, you’d almost think we were twins—but that’s where the similarities end. She’s the infinitely more polished me, and now she has everything I hold dear in her fat little hands.
“Maybe I should go. I’m really not feeling well after all.” I set my untouched faux champagne on the kitchen counter and offer a sad frown.
“Oh no!” Jesika sets her own glass down. “Boo!” She hugs and air-kisses me. “I hope you feel better soon. And don’t forget to take your gift!” She presses the Louis bag into my hands. “Chat soon, okay?”
I only nod, feigning illness before punching the button at the elevator door and vowing never to come back. The hate is killing me slowly. I’m torturing myself, and the worst part is, I’ve been enjoying every moment of it.
Chapter Thirty-One
Ispend the next forty-eight hours figuring out my next step. I’m trying to work on a game plan, as Bishop would have called it. I know I want to go back to California, I know I need to get on with my life, but I can’t shake the need to see how things play out with Dean, Jesika, and the new baby. I’ve started daydreaming about being in the baby’s life. I know it’s not feasible, but nevertheless, I can’t shake it. I’ve imagined what they might name it and if Jesika will be a crunchy, organic-diapers-and-granola mom or a trendy, coffee-and-chic-playdates kind of mom.
Maybe this experience has triggered my own maternal instincts. Maybe when I return to California, I’ll make an appointment with a specialist and consider my options for having a baby of my own. That sounds like a project I might be ready to tackle. I could even tell my followers I used my dead husband’s saved sperm to conceive our child. It would all be so sweet, but I’ll have to consider if it’s the direction I want my content to take—especially if I want to start thinking long-term.
Dean used to be so adamant that we use birth control. He often asked about my checkups and was always very up frontwith me about not wanting children. When I pushed the issue one night, he even went so far as to ask me if I really thought I would be a good mother, considering I didn’t have a good example of motherhood in my own upbringing. I think I began to hate him even then, but I stuffed the feeling so far down because trying to change him wasn’t worth my energy. My husband is brash and arrogant and ill-mannered, but I always loved his authenticity. Even now, I love him still. My twisted feelings for the man I married shift often, and the stronger the feelings grow, the more I feel a little unhinged over it all.
Sleep has been elusive, despite my efforts to relax and clear my mind. By the time I close my eyes and my brain starts to turn off, thoughts of all the missteps I’ve made over the last few weeks consume me. And my biggest regret:Bishop.He’s still my wild card.
I’ve woken up every morning and, from my bed, searched police arrests and reports for this neighborhood. So far, I haven’t found anything that indicates he was arrested, which only worries me more. And then it occurs to me that Bishop probably wasn’t even his real name. I am so foolish. I was trying to game a player, but everything about it backfired.
By the morning of the third day, I wake up to find a stream of late-night text messages from Jesika.
Can’t sleep.
I need to get out of this apartment. Let’s hang out tomorrow!
Why aren’t you answering me?
I haven’t answered any of the messages from her. She’s texted at least once a day since the last time I was at her place, but I’m officially ghosting Jesika. I guess it’s finally sinking in. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t sad about losing a friend, but then I remind myself that we were never friends at all—not really. The path was always leading here, to this moment. The day our friendship went up in smoke. I thought I could walk thetightrope at least a little longer, get to know the woman who is carrying my husband’s child, but I’m not built for this life. The more time I spend with her, the less I can control my thoughts and feelings.
Did I do something to upset you?
I groan, realizing I’m going to have to say something. I don’t know what, but I need to try to give this woman closure so she’s not suspicious of who I really am. I think then to how quiet the last few nights have been in their apartment. I know Dean’s routine, and seeing it from across the street every day has been comforting in a weird way. The light in their bedroom flips on around nine p.m., and sometimes I can catch a glimpse of them getting ready for bed. Within about thirty minutes, the overhead light is off, and a soft yellow lamp on Dean’s side of the bed illuminates the room. The glow comforts me, and then at some point over the next hour, the lamp flicks off and their window is shrouded in darkness. I imagine Dean curling into his pillow and the soft sound of his snores filling the room minutes later.
I’ve been going to bed every night with Dean just like that since Bishop has been gone. I realize that the distraction he provided was keeping me grounded, my thoughts tethered to his needs and the pleasure he could bring instead ofJesika and Dean, Dean and Jesikaall the time.
I’ve been watching so closely that last night, when the normal routine didn’t happen, it made me wonder if they were even home. Maybe they went out for a midweek date night, or maybe they’re out of town on business for a few days. Jesika hasn’t mentioned this in her texts. But then, why would she when I haven’t been answering her?
The truth is, I’m pretty curious about what they’ve been up to and about the investigation into Dean’s attacker. If I could find a way to catch up with Jesika and guarantee I can steerclear of Dean…
Hi! I’ve been busy with work the last few days. Sorry for not answering quicker! Still not feeling great. I don’t think I’m contagious, but I’m not sure. Want to meet at Buckingham Fountain by the park, just in case?My thumb hovers over the send button as I consider if meeting up with her is something I really want to do. Finally, the opportunity to dig a little deeper overcomes me, and I hit send.
Jesika replies within moments. Is 6 okay?
Perfect!I reply and then toss my phone on the bed. It’s only three, so I have some time on my hands, and I think I’m going to use it booking my next hotel. I’ll consider this my goodbye to Jesika, and maybe I’ll even explain that I have some business in New York—or heck, even Paris. She doesn’t know the details of my life. I’ve been very careful not to reveal anything that could make her suspicious or track her back to me. And funny, now that I think about it, my new friend hasn’t even asked much about my life. She’s always been forthcoming about hers but is too self-involved to ask a thing about me.
Heh.I smirk. Maybe she and Dean are a perfect pairing after all.
I spend the next two and a half hours researching luxury hotels around Lake Tahoe. I’ve never been there and have always wanted to go, and while I’m not a skier, I’ve always wanted to try it. And the best part, Dean would never suspect me there. I need to find myself in exactly the place no one who knows me would ever expect. Besides, I think Tahoe is a trendier setting for my brand. The last four weeks in Chicago have been mostly a bust, and I’m finding myself getting bored with Dean’s droll life now anyway.
I’ve already booked a flight for tomorrow, and I’ve updated my hotel reservation online to reflect a checkout exactly forty-eight hours after my check-in in Tahoe. It gives me more than enough time to get there, get settled, and then lie low for a fewdays. Bishop can sing like a fucking canary, and even if the police come searching for me, I’ll be long gone.
Just as I’m wrapping my new black scarf around my neck, eager to say my goodbyes to Jesika at the park and maybe grab a latte while I’m at it, I catch a flash of something in Jesika’s bedroom window.
I instantly pull out the binoculars and press them to the window.
“No fucking way.” I gasp. “That fucking traitor.”
