The glass sits on the armrest.I take one sip.Then nothing.
I think about calling Kate.
I think about Marin.
I don’t call anyone.
22
Marin
Charles looks away.The muscle in his jaw works.I know that jaw.I’ve traced it with my finger, kissed it, watched it clench across dinner tables when he was angry and pretending not to be.I know this man.Better than he knows himself, which is the whole problem—Charles has never liked being known.He likes being admired.Being wanted.Being the thing you can’t quite reach.The moment you get close enough to actually see him, he moves the goalposts.
I fell in love with him at a fundraiser in the Hamptons.He was charming in the way that only people who’ve never had to earn anything are charming—effortlessly, carelessly, like he could take or leave the entire room and every person in it.I watched him for an hour before he noticed me.When he finally did, he said, “You’ve been staring at me all night.Most people try to hide it.”
And I said, “Most people aren’t me.”
He laughed.And I thought:there it is.That’s the laugh I’m going to spend my life earning.
The problem with falling in love with someone who doesn’t need you is that you spend the whole relationship trying to become necessary.I rearranged my life around Charles.Not obviously—I’m not stupid.But in small ways.Taking the apartment closer to his office.Shifting my schedule so our evenings aligned.Learning to cook because he mentioned once,once, that he liked women who could cook.
I don’t even like cooking.
But I liked being the woman Charles wanted.And every time he pulled back, I leaned in harder, because that’s what closers do—we don’t read the room and leave.We read the room and adjust the pitch.
“You chose me,” I say.“At that party.You chose me.”
“I talked to you at a party, Marin.That’s not a binding contract.”
“Everything’s a contract, Charles.You just didn’t read the terms.”
He stares at me.I stare back.The restraints pull against the bedframe.
“I brought you ibuprofen,” I say.“Your ribs are probably killing you.”
“My ribs are killing me because you dropped me down a flight of stairs.”
“That was gravity.I just facilitated the introduction.”
He almost laughs.Almost.I see it—the twitch at the corner of his mouth, the one he kills before it becomes something real.He’s always done that.Let me get close enough to see the warmth and then shut the door.
I pick up the ibuprofen and hold them out.He looks at my hand, then at me.
“If I take it, does that mean I’m agreeing to this?”
“It means your ribs will hurt less.Don’t overthink it.”
He takes the pills.I hand him the water.He drinks.Our fingers touch on the glass and neither of us pulls away, and for one stupid, reckless second I think:see?We’re already doing better.
I take the glass back.Set it on the tray.
“Get some rest,” I say.“We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
“Marin.”His voice catches me at the door.“You can’t keep me here.”
I turn back.He’s looking at me with those eyes—the ones that made me rearrange my entire life, the ones that looked at Vanessa the same way and thought I wouldn’t notice.
I smile.“Watch me.”
