I stiffen. I can’t keep letting him think there is something between us. Even if it means he won’t be so welcoming anymore. “Mr. Errington…Will and I are not—” I falter. “We’re just good friends.”
I met him at the B&B on his final morning in town. We sat on the narrow balcony looking over the harbor, while I tried to find a way to say the words without choking on them. Telling him that what we had was never going to turn into something more felt like a betrayal of his kindness.
But gracious as ever, the true gentleman he is, he squeezed my hands and gave me the gift of his understanding. I’ve never been so relieved. He then admitted he’d let his feelings for me cloud his judgment and apologized for acting so out of character toward Adam.
“It’s quite all right. It changes nothing, darling. I remain enormously proud of you. Whatever you decide, you won’t face it alone.”
My arms go limp as we end the call, phone rolling on the floor. I sit there, staring at the abstract painting on the wall, when the encrypted phone vibrates.
It’s a notification from Radu.
Thumb hovering above the pop-up, I hesitate. Because I know what it’s about.
Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe it’s not the right thing to do. I’ve lived for eight years inside a story where he betrayed me. If this rewrites history, what does that make me?
But my insecurities win, and I open it.
Pieces of text come in and out of focus as I scroll through the message, a fog rising behind my lids.
Only professional correspondence between A. E. and the individuals on the list…
A. E. is mentioned multiple times by B. Below are the texts referencing A. E.… date-stamped… starting eight years ago…
Blanca made it all up. There are messages between her and one of her sorority cronies. The loud thump of my pulse increases with every line I read. As does the overwhelming feeling that I’m going to lose the contents of my stomach.
Which I do.
Repeatedly, after I barely make it to the nearest toilet, heaving and retching until there’s nothing left but the burn in my throat and the crushing weight of the truth.
I brace my hands on the cold sink, staring into the mirror. I barely recognize the woman looking back in the too-bright bathroom.
Eight years. I built an entire life on a mistake.
Eight years of fury and pride. I was certain—
And he never even…
I cup water in my hand and rinse my mouth, furious at my reflection. I walked away from him because I was afraid of being wrong.
And, God, I was. So completely wrong.
Red mist floods my vision, and without a second thought, I rush through the door. I slip past the guards before anyone can stop me, the soles of my shoes striking marble as I make a beeline for the elevator that leads underground. One of them manages to wedge himself in before the doors slide shut.
“Miss Rawlings,” he starts carefully. “We didn’t have anything on the schedule today.”
“Unforeseen situation.” My foot taps nervously on the gray floor, while it crawls downward. “Do you know Park, just north of 70th?”
He nods briskly.
“Good.” I gesture toward the rows of black cars. “You’re driving.”
Blanca opens the door with a surprised smile that falters when I shoulder past her into the circular sitting room without waiting for permission.
“What a pleasant surprise,” she chirps. “Though you’d left already. I was about to meet the girls, do you want to come?” Her gaze flicks over my casual clothes and disheveled hair. “Maybe borrow an outfit—”
“You lied to me.”
She’s looking at me all innocently, in her fitted yellow dress and heels, while rage I’ve never felt before courses down to my bones.
