“Thanks for coming, Maggie. I’d like to be alone now.” My voice sounds far away.
“I’m not done.” Maggie sits next to me, and puts her hands on my shoulders. “Look at me.”
I do because I don’t have the energy to fight her.
“I came to warn you.” She’s using her calm voice, the one you use on a spooked animal. “Before reporters dig deeper. Lowell isthe headline, but the press loves a side story. If they find out you were sleeping with someone on the task force?—”
I moan, tears rolling down my cheeks.
“Christ! Enya.” Maggie pushes me away. I fall against the backrest with a soft thud.
I close my eyes for a long moment and regroup. I know how to do this. After a lifetime of being treated like crap by my family, I’m an expert at swallowing emotions.
But it’s never been this hard before.
With my father and sister, I see the backhand coming a mile away. But I never expected the knife in the back now, not even in my nightmares.
I take a deep breath and open my eyes, willing the tears away. “No one will care about my ex-boyfriend. No one will find out.”
She scoffs. “This is D.C,” she repeated, “everyone knows everything. People know who you’re fucking before you do.”
My cheeks burn. Shame and grief twist together, choking me.
Just a week ago, I thought Nick would propose once he was back from Paris because of how he was looking at me, talking to me, telling me he loved me, and asking me to accept a dinner invitation from my father so he could speak to him. I thought he was going to ask Daddy for permission to ask for my hand, as they do in the old movies.
Lowell had been there at that dinner, along with a senator and an ambassador.
Nick had spent most of the evening talking to Lowell. At the time, I took it as proof that he wasn’t using me to climb the political ladders of D.C.—because if that were his aim, he would’ve been charming senators, ingratiating himself with my father.
I told myself he was paying attention to Lowell because I’d once mentioned I’d gone on a date or two with him years ago. I thought Nick was jealous. I was absurdly flattered by it.
Now I know the truth.
He was talking to Lowell because he intended to arrest him.
And that’s the part I can’t reconcile—if he already had what he needed, if the outcome was inevitable, then why did he come home with me that night? Why did he touch me the way he did? Why did he kiss my skin like he was starving, hold me like I was precious, make love to me like I was the most beautiful, cherished woman in the world—if it was all a lie?
“Look, I know this is a blow, but if he comes around, you need to?—"
A hollow laugh escapes me. “If what you’re saying is true, do you really think he’s going to show his face to me again?”
I’ll never see him again. That realization crushes me. It also makes me feel pathetic because, even now, a large part of me is in denial. Hoping against hope, he’s going to walk through that door, since he has a key to the apartment, and say he’s back and here’s a diamond ring he got me from Paris.
It’s an antique, baby, full of history—so we can build a future and memories as a family.
“You’re probably right.” Maggie shrugs. “Cut your losses. Stay away from him.” Then, softer—but barely audible, she adds, “I’m trying to protect you.”
I shake my head. “No, Maggie, you’re protecting Daddy and yourself.”
She freezes for half a beat—maybe recognizing the truth—but it passes. Maggie is a pragmatist.
She straightens. “If he reaches out to you, tell me. Someone from DOJ will probably want a statement.”
That jolts me. “From me? Why?”
“Because they talked to me not two hours ago,” she snaps, frustration bubbling up. “Daddy briefed me. I’m briefing you. Just tell them the truth.”
She gets up and walks brusquely to my front door. She turns around before opening it to pin me with a stare. “Enya, I hope this teaches you not to trust the first man who smiles at you.”
