I’m a fuckingcoward.
It takesfive minutes before Heather realizes that I’m not opening the door again. In case she tries to get information from me, I scurry out of the front room, basically hiding in the next one off the hall: the living room. I back up as far as I can, as though I can outrun her words.
Married in two weeks…
What? How? That doesn’t make sense? Sure, I had this feeling like he was hiding something, but a wholefiancé?How?
I’m trembling, my bare feet tripping over the floor. I turn when my heel skids, gasping when I come face-to-face with one of the tall windows.
When I was in here earlier, it was early evening, another beautiful early September day. I remember there were some clouds, but in the time since I last looked outside, the skies turned a deep purply-grey, the portent of a thunderstorm brewing. A scattering of droplets cover the glass. It’s drizzling, but nowhere near hard enough to hide the city below or conceal just how high up I am.
Learning that my biggest fear had come true—that Dallas has moved on while we were separated, that he found someone new,and he was only taking care of me out of a sense of duty not love—has my head spinning, my heart thumping wildly. I can barely catch my breath. I get dizzy and scared when it comes to heights on a good day.
When it feels like my world as I know… that I’ve spent the last few weeks getting used to… is crashing down around me, the horrifying sense of vertigo that slams into me as I look out the window nearly has me crumpling to the floor.
That won’t help, I think. I’ll still be so many stories over the ground and, suddenly, I can’t bear it. I have this urge to escape, to find myself on solid ground, and even if I know it’s because I’m using my justified fear of heights to give me a reason to purposely look past how another woman came here and said she was engaged tomyhusband, that’s fine.
I need air.
I needsomething.
I need to get the hell out of the penthouse.
Phone? Where’s my phone? Ah. I snatch it from the coffee table, shove it in the pockets of my leggings. When I see my bare feet, I grab the only pair of sneakers I own and jam my feet into them. After that, I barrel out the front door. Too late, I wonder if Heather is waiting outside the penthouse for Dallas, but the outer hallway is empty.
Next thing I know, I’m in the lobby, heading for the exit.
The doors to the front of the Fortress slide open, and the first drop of rain hits my cheek as I step outside. Then another. Then ten more all around me, each one cold and insistent, dotting the pavement like a warning.
By the time I reach the edge of the building, it’spouring.
The sky has opened up completely, rain slamming down hard enough to sting. I tug my sweater around me, wishing I’d brought a coat. Wishing Ihada coat that wasn’t just the hooded sweatshirt some other woman picked out for me. The rain falls atan angle, the chilly water running into my eyes, into my mouth, down the collar of my sweater.
It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t stop me.
I keep running, but I’m not able to run fast enough to escape my own traitorous thoughts…
What if he’s lying?
What if heisn’t?
What if she’s being honest—that they are engaged—and he’s only allowed me back into his life because he feels guilty that I got hurt while we were separated? He tried to move on, but he couldn’t because of me, and now I’m ruining his life again, keeping from a woman who can love him the way he deserves to be loved?
What if… what if my body seems to remember him because it’s desperate for affection and not because this gorgeous stranger… my supposed husband… is telling the truth of who we are to each other? Maybe we were married once, but if we were apart for so long… there had to be a reason.
Wasshethe reason? Or was itme?
I don’t know. Add it to the ever-growing fucking pile, but I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, and instead of sticking around the Fortress where I at least know where I am, I keep on running until my foot slides, I nearly fall to the asphalt, the rain becoming too much for me to handle that I have to find some sort of shelter.
Some protection.
As I duck down the next alley, searching for somewhere to hide—from the rain, fromDallas—I see a stretch of graffiti-covered brick. A hint of artistic ugliness in the perfection that seems to be Harmony Heights, the graffiti calls me toward it. My thoughts skid, slippery as the pavement beneath my feet. I stumble, throwing my back against the brick, flattening myselfbeneath the slim awning over my head as though that might be enough to protect me.
And maybe it does because, suddenly, the rain changes.
Not the sound. The raindrops are still loud and relentless in their pursuit, but they’re not hitting me the same way. Less on my face. Less on my shoulders. Swiping my eyes with my sleeve, I look up to see what’s saving me.
It’shim.
