My jaw tightens. I stare at the camera, then at her, then back again.
“You’re fucking joking,” I say. But I know she’s not.
Elaine gives me a look that’s almost pity. “The world is different now, Thomas. If you want to fuck like nobody’s watching, you’d better start by turning off your own phone.” She crosses her arms, robe opening just enough to show a line of breast. “Or, you could try to trust her. The caterer. If you want to be with someone who doesn’t keep secrets, maybe start by not keeping your own.”
I pick up the camera and set it on the nightstand, careful not to crush it. I want to throw it through the window, but the energy leaks out of me. I feel empty and ancient.
“What are you saying?”
“Nothing,” Elaine says in a light voice. “Just don’t be offended when I say that you’re the one who’s behind on the times.”
I follow her with my eyes. “Is this how it’s going to be? Everyone just keeping tabs on everyone else? I’m the one who’s wrong for thinking that recording sex with another individual, without their consent, is wrong? Really?”
Elaine shrugs. “Maybe. There’s a fine line between right or wrong, and it’s blurrier than you think. Trust me, it’s a big world out there, and I’ve been with a lot of men. A lot ofrichmen, and I’m an attorney too, so I’ve seen it all. All I’m saying is that maybe you should reconsider, tell the truth, and live with the consequences.” She opens the door to the en suite, then pauses, turning back over her shoulder. “Go to her. You obviously want to.”
“Iamtelling the truth,” I seethe. “I have no idea what you’re getting at!”
Elaine merely shrugs, and enters the bathroom, shutting the door behind her, soft as a secret.
What the fuck? What was that about? I finish buttoning my shirt. The perfume in the air is so thick I want to sneeze. The city outside is neon and blue and utterly indifferent. I grab my jacket, slide the phone into my pocket, and leave the hotel suite, my steps slow and even. The hallway is empty, the air in it cooler. I ride the elevator down to the lobby, watching my reflection in the mirror. Blue eyes, hair mussed, a day of stubble, shirt collar askew.
I remember what Andie said the night she confessed to everything:We both need to be open about the truth. We both have to share because this is a two-way street.
The doors part, and the city waits.
Have I been truthful myself?
My mind spins as I walk out, still thinking of Andie, the way her laugh filled a room, the way her skin felt against mine, the way she tasted like the truth.
But Elaine’s right. Have I been honest with myself? With Andie?
Suddenly, I understand what the attorney was getting at.
I’ve fucked up. Big time.
Oh shit.
I step into the Minneapolis night, haunted by my realization. I need to talk to Andie because if there’s a future, then this is where it starts.
23
THE FULL TRUTH FINALLY COMES OUT
Andie
There’s no point pretending to be casual. I step inside the restaurant and the air changes. My senses shiver, recalibrate. The threshold is cold glass and brass, but the inside is a cave—dark booths, walls the color of burnt espresso, the only light those low, coppery pendants that turn everyone’s hair orange and the edges of every glass to gold. It’s so dim I could vanish, and for a second I want to.
But he’s already here.
He sits in a booth near the back, exactly where he should be: in shadow, with the river of traffic behind him and the empty chair across the table glowing like an altar. Thomas’s posture is what I remember—broad shoulders squared, dark hair brushed back, jawline so square it should have a warning label. He doesn’t look at his phone, doesn’t scan the room. He looks straight ahead, hands folded in front of him, like a man waiting for a verdict.
He’s never not been handsome. But tonight, in the underworld light, he looks like a ghost of himself—a little more tired,the lines at the corners of his eyes deeper, his hair a little less controlled, the stubble shading his mouth like he can’t be bothered to care. He sees me, of course, the second I walk in. His head snaps up, and for half a heartbeat his eyes widen, just enough to crack something in me. Then it’s gone. All business.
The hostess tries to intercept me, but I walk right past, pulse drumming in my ears. My coat is too thin for the weather, and as I cross the room, I feel every goosebump on my arms. The smell of the place is tomato and oil and scorched black pepper, and it sticks to my hair before I’ve even sat down.
When I reach the table, Thomas stands. Just a fraction, just enough to show that old-fashioned thing he does, like he’s making sure I know I’m seen, I’m wanted. It’s such a tiny gesture—he probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it—but it makes my throat go tight. I sink into the bench across from him, folding my hands in my lap so that I appear peaceful, even if I’m not.
We just sit, looking at one another.
