Page 61 of Queen of Nothing

Not even tears fall and wet my cheeks. I’m too startled, like I can’t believe this is even happening.

Oliver lifts his gaze to mine, shadows darkening his face. His tone tightens, strained, like it hurts to ask, “Is he yours?”

Again, I shake my head.

The relief softens him. Just a touch, just an inch of the shoulders, a slight breath between his lips.

Then—as if Sal doesn’t exist at all, as if I don’t cup the back of Sal’s head to hold him closer to me—Oliver reaches out and touches my face again.

He steps closer, marvelling at me, at this face that isn’t mine.

Words are clashing around in his head.

His lips part, then shut, then twist, over and over on a cycle, but he can’t quite decide on what to say.

Neither can I.

For a moment that feels like a pocket of eternity, we are quiet, staring at one another, then—a ping hits his pocket.

His phone.

Oliver’s face hardens and he steps back, taking his hand with him. He takes out his phone, reads the message on the screen, then loosens a tight breath.

He says, “Don’t go to your apartment. Father is there. Mr Younge, too.”

Another ping.

Then he adds, “And Dray is walking the streets to find you.”

I blink—and finally, tears come.

They burn my eyes, wobble my mouth, thicken my throat.

Oliver lifts a soft look to me. “I miss you, Liv. We all do.”

His smile is pained as he reaches for his wrist—and unclasps his watch.

It slinks off his wrist, gold and glistening.

I haven’t seen a timepiece like this since we unloaded all our jewellery in Geneva—but then, I haven’t seen a timepiece like this Jacob & Co in probably a lot longer.

This timepiece that exceeds any Vacheron that I bought him, this pure treasure, this million-dollar artwork, is slipped off his wrist—and pushed into my hand.

Oliver jerks his chin to the side, to the back door of the stairwell. “Go. Now.”

My fingers clasp around the watch.

But I don’t move.

I don’t want to.

I want to be free of this little life.

I want to go home.

My face twists with the fresh surge of tears—and Oliver misreads it entirely.

He leans in to close the distance between us, and clasping my cheeks, he rests a kiss on my forehead.