My eyebrows knitted at the subject change. “For the wedding?”
“The other one. For your welcome gala,” he said. “Did you decide on what to wear yet? It’s next weekend.” He tugged my shoulder. “Wait. Vacation together. Plans for the future,” he said. “Does this mean... wedding’s on?”
I calculated. Not long until the end of October. “Let’s see how the next week goes,” I said.
A loud crack split the air. I whipped around, expecting tosee the tree we had just passed lying across the concrete. But then I felt it: a raindrop, splattering cleanly on my hair part. The tree stood just where we’d left it. Wells grabbed my hand, tugging me away, as a fall thunderstorm ripped the sky open and sent us fleeing for cover.
Thirty-Five
On the morning of my official event (“welcome party” according to Samantha, “celebration” according to various network management, “gala” if you were Wells), I kept failing at multitasking. I’d agreed to come in for a Saturday pre-taping to kill two makeup birds with one stone, but I was distracted, fidgety. Dola had to redo my eyeliner twice.
Halfway back to the lobby, I realized I’d forgotten my charger. Natalie’d borrowed both of my spare ones, which meant they were gone forever. The giant Per Diem clock in the lobby confirmed I was running late—something I despised—but I’d need my stupid phone later.
Feeling vaguely naughty, I kicked off my heels by the elevator, gifting my knee a moment of relief. I raced barefoot through the darkened hallways, just rounding the corner to my dressing room when the unmistakable sound of crying made me freeze in place.
“Hello?” I said, cautious.
The crying cut out, which confirmed its source. Josef’s dressing room.
His door was ajar. I tapped my fingertips against the wood frame, snagging a corner of my cheek in my canines.
“I thought I was alone,” Josef said.
“Are you okay?”
He studied me. His dark hair was as mussed as short hair can be, and there was no hiding the evidence of his tears. He lookedas though he considered lying—wiping his tears, running a hand through his hair.
His shoulders sagged. “I once read this study on memory, where the words you use to describe something make your mind believe it to be true,” he said. “Like how I always say I’m lucky? I grew up with parents who were gay rights activists. I’ve always been madly in love with Marco, and the twins were the easiest adoption in New York State. I have a job I love, one that people dream about. I’m the right kind of famous, I’m the right kind of rich.”
I waited for thebut. There was always one.
His smile was rueful. “On paper, my life is enviable. I decided it would be a long time ago, and I stuck to it. But now, those damn emails!” He slammed his fist on a countertop strewn with papers, products, wires, a lapel mic, a coffee mug. There was a sourness in here, something like green tea left cold, like baby powder with no babies.
I flinched. “Oh, Josef.”
“As you’ve probably put together, Marco left me for his soulmate.” Josef scratched at something on his thigh. “He says he fell in love the moment he read the other man’s name. Tomas. How can that be? How can he buy into this for sure? They’re talking about going to Ibiza already.” His eyes welled, spilled over. “I love Ibiza.”
“Listen.” I hesitated. “When it comes to these big questions, like... What happens when we die? Does reincarnation exist? What caused the Big Bang? And I guess before all this, maybe even during everything—are soulmates real? I have a theory about it.” I shifted. “The only people who are right about the answers to questions like those are the ones who admit they don’t know for sure. That even if they have a belief, that belief can be wrong.”
Josef pulled a tissue from a box in the corner, dabbed his face. “You’re young for such wisdom.”
I swallowed against the threat of tears. My mouth felt full of something cottonlike. I wanted to spit it out, eradicate this feeling that said I was stuck in the wrong life. I wedged my hip against the door. “Marco’s missing out,” I said.
“I keep asking myself how I got here. How I went from happy and fulfilled and raising two kids, to being left alone, all because someone somewhere decided Marco and I weren’t meant to be.” He gave me a funny look then. “Why are you barefoot?”
“Right. That.” I wiggled my toes against the tile. “Long story that involves a forgotten charger.”
“Your big night,” he said. “Are you ready?”
I slapped my forehead. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“Go,” he said, more wearily than Josef had ever said anything in my presence before. “I’ll see you there.”
It was the first night where autumn had given up the pretense of hiding its intent to steal the sun earlier and earlier. Time did the thing where it warped, and before I knew it I had to get dressed in the bronze-taupe gown for tonight’s event that social media had upvoted. It was slightly more revealing than the classic black one I’d wanted to wear, but more unique.
I nudged my apartment building doors open and stepped onto the darkening street. The car had to park a half block down, so I concentrated on not falling in my enormously tall stilettos. As I picked my way down the sidewalk, I inhaled as much of the cooler evening air as I could, which was why I nearly laughed when I arrived at the limo, only to find Trent Foster holding the back door open. I grinned. “How’s Dola?”
“You’ve seen her more recently than me.” He tipped his hat in my direction. “Never better.”
