She stared at him. No doubt her own expression was blank now, wiped clean at such an unexpected question, so bluntly asked. What in god’s name did he care about her and Jamie for?
“Am I—what?”
“Over. Him,” Michael asked, suspicion in his eyes now.
“Yes?” she said, the inflection in her own voice more about her ongoing surprise to be asked rather than any doubt. Strangely, when she said it—when she heard the question in her voice—sheknew that there wasn’t any question. Not anymore. She didn’t suppose she wouldreallyever get over the whole thing of it—the feeling of family, of losing it, of losing herself in the aftermath of it. She didn’t suppose that was the sort of thing you ever did fullyget over. She didn’t suppose it would be right to.
But she had gotten over Jamie.
She’d let go of him, maybe longer ago than she’d ever realized.
“You don’t sound sure,” Michael said.
“Well, I am,” she said, snappishness in her tone now. They were in the middle of aparty, for god’s sake; it wasn’t like they could drag out this conversation. She had apurposehere, and Jamie didn’t have anything to do with it.
“I don’t see how it’s any of your…”
She trailed off, an idea nudging at her—something about the way Michael was looking at her, the way he was asking her this. It reminded her of those first couple of days with Griffin, the way he thought that what was going wrong with the wedding—with Emily—had to do withher, something shesaid, her and her fallen-apart marriage, and how it might somehow infect this whole week for everyone.
“Look, this isn’t about that, I swear to you,” she said. “Emily doesn’t care about me and Jamie. She’s worried about…”
This time, when she trailed off, it was because Michael had so clearly stopped listening. His gaze had gone over her shoulder, wholly hollow again, even bleaker this time. Layla hardly knew Michael, and still, it hurt to see him look this way, no matter that he’d just been sort of rude to her.
So she turned, too, and that’s when she saw him.
A column of smoke moving through the room, dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing earlier, no change for the sake of this party. No intention tobeat this party, at least not for long. Shehad not heard him come in; she suspected that no one had heard him come in; she wondered if maybe he had simply slipped, sinuous and untouchable, through the cracks in the door. If he looked around, she couldn’t tell, because he had his hat brim pulled low, like when she’d first met him.
But one thing was clear.
He had not come to this party looking for her.
Oh no, she thought as she watched him make his way to where Em stood, Rosie beside her, the Finance Guy and his field hockey wife having moved on at some point, and Layla had the sense it was good that Rosie was there in her big pink skirt, her yellow bra showing, a fierce faerie sprite that wasn’t afraid of this dark prince who Layla knew was the culmination of all this gathering foreboding, all thisinevitability.
Behind her, Michael did not move.
He did not move when Griffin reached Emily, and he did not move when Griffin bent his head, leaning in to speak beside Emily’s ear.
He did not move when Emily’s eyes shot up, surely catching Michael’s gaze, and he did not move when her face drained of color.
And he still did not move when the column of smoke straightened again, and turned to leave.
Out the very door no one had even seen him enter.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
He knew she would come.
He could tell himself that he wasn’t waiting for her, that he was only taking a little time to breathe through the reality of what he’d done, and then he would get up and move. A silicone patch would be good, staying limber would be good, because he felt a bad night coming on.
But he knew he wouldn’t do any of that.
Not until she came.
So he sat on the small couch, more uncomfortable than he could have conceived of, his back curved, his left leg stretched as long as he could manage. He thought of Michael sitting right here. Only yesterday. Stalling on going to the museum, floating on a brief balloon of confidence about Emily that Griffin had let the air out of.
Now, he had done more than let the air out.
He had basically shot his best friend out of the sky.
