1
WHEN THE TRUTH BLOOMS
ENYA
“Did you know that he’s a fucking NSA agent?” my sister demands.
“What?”
Maggie has obviously lost her mind, or she’s been watching too many spy thrillers, or both.
“Did you know that Nick is a government agent?” she grits out.
My brain does a quick reboot. “Nick works at the Smithsonian, Maggie. He’s not?—”
“He works for the NSA, and I doubt his real name is Nick Smith,” she snaps, cutting me off.
“Maggie, have you been drinking?” I need to ask because this is crazy talk.
“Enya!” Maggie screams. “He was part of the task force investigating Daddy.”
For a moment, I’m convinced the apartment has been vacuum-sealed because I can’t draw oxygen into my lungs.
I pick up my phone and dial Nick’s number.
It doesn’t ring, not even once, before an automated voice says, “We're sorry, but the number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service.”
I shake my head and try again.
Same message.
And again. And again.
“Stop it, Enya.” My sister tries to take my phone from me, but I evade her.
I check my messages, and the last message from Nick was three days ago.
Just landed in Paris. Will call when I can.
He didn’t call. I told myself he got busy. I lied to myself that it was a time zone thing, even as I wondered if he was done with me. Because how could a man, as handsome and wonderful as Nick, want someone lackluster and drab like me?
I don’t have my father’s charisma or Maggie’s beauty and smarts. I’m a boring florist.
But he never made me feel like that when he was with me. He was part of my life for six months—six golden, impossible, lovely months, where I was the center of someone’s attention. He made me feel seen. Cherished.
But now it appears that I mistook a spotlight for sunlight.
Mistook calculation for affection.
Mistook attention for…love.
“You are precious, baby, and you’re mine.”
“Love is too small a word for what I feel for you.”
Was it all lies?
No. Not possible.
