As I was leaving the office late at night on Wednesday, that Nadine stopped me.
“Everything okay in paradise?” The way she phrased the question meant she already knew the answer, and the casual tone was merely the cover to instigate a response.
“Yes, it’s been a rough forty-eight hours, but I’m back.” I gave her my most winning smile. My new motto was not to let it show when salt rubbed the wounds. Kill them with kindness or some shit. “That stomach bug sure did a number on me.”
“Oh, yeah, I heard about that.” Nadine folded her spectacles and put them in her alligator clutch.
Poor gator.
“What I meant was you didn’t receive any flowers today.”
I blinked down at her. How did this woman—this woman who made the mad scientist who refused to sew capes for the superhero cartoon family look pretty—realize what I hadn’t? It was Wednesday. For the past five Wednesdays, I had received a bouquet of flowers.
I always pretended they were from Steven, because any other explanation was too horrible.
After facing my nightmare, I couldn’t ignore reality.
“Oh, yup. But everything’s great,” I choked out. Grabbing my phone, I gave Nadine a little wave, took off down the hall, and ducked into an empty conference room to make this call.
“Hey, love, what’s up?” Steven did his best impression of an American accent.
“Just wondering if we could repeat Monday night?” I tried to sound sexy, but I was working too hard to form the right words.
“Monday night?” Steven switched to British. “What happened Monday night?”
The floor tilted, and I had to fall back into a chair. “You don’t remember?”
He did text me, right?
I pulled my phone back, looked through our messages, and instantly felt the urge to puke. There was no text from him.
“I don’t want to remember,” he scoffed. “I was hungover as shit yesterday. Did we see each other at the bar Monday night?”
“We crossed paths. Say, where did the flowers go?” I added, brain panicking. There was no logic to any of this. I didn’t know what possessed me to call, or why I started with that question.
“Flowers? What flowers? You hate flowers.” Steven sounded concerned. “Is everything alright, love? Are you having cold feet about the wedding?”
I bit my knuckles to keep from screaming. “Everything’s lovely, darling. I’ll see you in Martha’s Vineyard Friday night.”
The call disconnected before I let out a groan of desperation. I hadn’t wanted to admit the stalker was real when I should have been preparing to have him ruin my life.
One mind fuck at a time.
Chapter 18 –Vincenzo
The garden looked like it had been grown for them. Every plant was curated, every bush trimmed, and each tree tamed. Lanterns glowed in the branches overhead, soft, seductive light washing over linen-draped tables and women in dresses that rustled like expensive prizes. Crystal chimed. Laughter floated. Money had a sound, and it was careless and smug.
It was the world Archibald Loring tried to force himself into, dragging his daughter along by sheer force of will.
I stood near the ivy-wrapped archway, pretending to admire the hydrangeas while every cell in my body whispered the truth. I didn’t belong here.
Deranged laughter clawed up my throat. I didn’t even want to.
Belonging was for people who wanted to fit a mold. People carved by society to match the marble walkways and chilled rosé. Pretty people with polished voices and fat wallets. They were self-designed for this world as neatly as the napkin folds. They existed like ornaments in the garden of the privileged.
And I wanted to ruin it.
It would be so damn easy. A darker urge coiled under my ribs, whispering about destruction the way some men whispered about love. I wanted to take. Because I could. Because no one here thought I mattered enough to stop me.
