“What aboutyourmatch?” I hear myself ask, the words hollow to my ears.
His grin widens. “No one could be as right for me as you. What the fuck does fate know anyway?”
I choke back a laugh. If he had any idea...
He can’t know. He can’teverknow.
Because I’m not the Elodie he was supposed to match with anyway.
Salvatore takes my silence and the implicit rejection in stride. He reaches out in a swift movement, trailing his gloved fingers along my jaw so swiftly they’re gone before I can recoil. “See you around, Elodie.”
He saunters back across the street as if all that’s passed between us was a casual chat.
I watch until he’s disappeared around a corner, and then I hurry on toward the next pawn shop. My back tingles with the possibility that Salvatore might have doubled back to keep following me.
If he’s been watching me the whole time, what did he make of my strange quest?
He didn’t even ask me about it. He didn’t prod me at all. Just slaughtered a void and declared his devotion.
He’s chosen me, all in, without even knowing we’re fated.
The realization hits me so hard my feet stumble under me.
I pause to gather myself, blinking back a sudden burn of tears. But I can’t do anything about the ache that’s formed around my heart.
It wasn’t like that in my world. None of my matches except Asher wanted anything to do with me before our bond sparked.
Even Asher might not have wanted to hang out with me if he hadn’t been as much of an outcast as I was.
Maybe Other Elodie would have deserved that devotion. I don’t know what crap she got into, but she couldn’t have screwed up—havebeenas screwed up—as I am.
But Salvatore can’t have her. And he can’t have me.
How much have I already screwed up in this reality just by existing where I’m not meant to be? Beating my metaphorical butterfly wings and setting off a thousand tornados.
A different resolve twists through my gut, hard and clammy.
Whatever it takes, however far I have to go, I can’t let myself drag these guys down too.
I’d rather die.
Thirty-Three
Elodie
Just past noon on Sunday, I peer across the street at the stately Victorian face of The Eclipse from my stealthy rooftop perch. Today’s sun has burned away yesterday’s clouds, but the heat of it baking my hair barely penetrates the uneasy chill inside me.
I didn’t make any progress with the other pawn shops I checked—unsurprising, since any other jewelry my double gave away would have been on the market for weeks if not months now. As nervous as I am about returning to this den of self-aggrandizing men, it’s the only other clear lead I can follow up on.
And I have to dosomething.
Other Elodie did make that strange comment about getting “elevated” and club business. I don’t know what she meant, and I still haven’t figured out why she was interested in Grady Tadros either.
So I’m going to be in and out in a flash, spending as little time on the premises as possible, and hopefully kill both of those birds with one stone.
Which means there’s no point in going in until I know Grady’s there too.
He didn’t show up while I was monitoring the place for the few extra hours I had yesterday. I’ve spent most of the morning here too without any sign of him.
