Page 19 of Rockland

I take a shower. Exhausted from the effort, I fall into my bed, naked, hair soaking wet. I’m so spent I can barely think, but there’s a nagging feeling in my chest—as if there’s something I should be worrying about. I piece together the evening for clues as to why I feel unsettled. Sasha’s words dance in my head, until he gets here to get you under control, but it’s only for a moment, then the wine creates a cloud in my mind and I just can’t think anymore. I drift off. I sleep a deep, dreamless sleep.

When I awake, despite a dull headache, I feel almost… whole again.

And there’s a new sensation washing over me, the morning sun warming my skin through the picture window. A clean feeling. A lightness I’ve not felt.

For about two years.

The grip of grief’s tight clutching fingers have gone. I’m not sad. I’m not angry. Brett is a warm memory in my heart. A good feeling that I will carry with me all the days of my life. No longer a hindrance to me living my life.

I make an effort. I brush and curl my hair, tugging at the stubborn tendrils that have dried in a mass of chaos. I put on a little mascara. Slide gloss over my lips. I file my talon-like neglected nails, painting them a pale pink.

Taking my time, I dress carefully—like I used to. I decide on a short red dress. Kitten heels. Sling my white leather Prada bag over my shoulder.

I’m going to the office today. It will be good for me.

As I leave the house, I take one long look in my hallway mirror. I’m halfway decent. There’s a new light in my eyes. A determination.

I must start my life over again.

Today. He would want it this way.

And the Village needs me.

I step outside. The air is crisp, clean. I take a deep breath as a gentle breeze flutters my clean, curly hair. I smile.

Family members wave to me on the street. Their faces read shock, surprise, and relief. I wave back, flash them smiles that are real, not forced. A few minutes later, I reach the west side of the Village, gaze up at our family’s tall gray stone office building. Read the familiar sign, Bachman Enterprises. Press my thumb to the pad and greet our doorman. He welcomes me warmly, as if I hadn’t missed a day of work, much less a year, then pushes the second-floor button on the elevator for me.

The doors close. I’m alone. The tiniest flinch of panic rises in my chest. So many people—ones I’ve been ignoring for months. I breathe through the anxiety. When the doors slide open, I step out into the hall with a smile on my face.

I’m greeted by a few of the office Beauties, hugs and kisses and squeals of delight to be reunited. It feels so good to be back in the world. Why have I avoided it so long? I say hello to the legal team, my fellow accountants. I hit the café, order a cappuccino. Hold it in my hands and inhale its warm cinnamon scent before I take a sip of the heavenly concoction.

I pass a few more people. I’m eternally grateful of how cool they are being—no deep questions, no sorrowful stories of Brett. Just polite, light interactions. It’s business as usual, which is exactly what I need today.

What I need to move on.

I reach my office door. A little thrill of excitement rises in me, knowing behind this door is the familiar surroundings of my private workspace. A smile stretches on my face as I throw it open. I begin to walk in but stop dead in my tracks.

Bronson Bachman is perched on the edge of my desk. My small glass gemstone globe is casually being tossed from hand to hand. His gaze meets mine and his dark brow raises. “Lovely of you to join us, Tess.” He places the globe gently on the desk with his left hand. My eyes catch the platinum band around his ring finger as he does.

I’ll never get used to the idea of hardcore bachelor Bronson being in love, married.

He strides across the room, stopping inches from me.

“How did you know I’d be here?” I ask.

He smiles. “Darling. You know I have eyes and ears all around this Village.”

He must have men watching my house. Keeping tabs on the town’s crazy widow.

I throw my bag on my desk, claiming it as my own. “So, you’ve been spying on me?”

He shrugs. “Perhaps. Just a bit. For your own safety, of course.”

“For my safety, right? Like the Village isn’t the safest freaking place in the city?”

His brow darts up in distaste. “Tone.”

I swallow, hard. Mutter an apology.