26

But he’s not backing down. “We’re coming down to the line here, Mel. We both need to make sacrifices. If it makes things easier, I can toss in another hundred grand.”

He makes the offer so casually that all at once, I feel worthless. Like someone he can buy, not someone he cares about.

“Fine.” I don’t acknowledge the money or thank him. There’s no use—he’s made it clear that this is happening whether he ran it by me or not.

And the articles are already out. Sooner or later, Jodie will see this. I can probably expect a call from her tonight, even.

“I’ll see you Monday,” I bite out, pulling the phone away and tapping the red “end call” button quickly.

I don’t want to hear any more logic from Jason, as if that’s all life is to him—logical. A series of decisions to be made in order to get ahead, no matter who you hurt or disregard along the way.

As reality sets in, I start to wonder once again what happened to the good man I dated my senior year. The one who brought a handful of baby bunnies to a wildlife rehab center when their nest was exposed, the one who helped Jodie make buttermilk biscuits, and walked his elderly neighbor’s dog for free.

Wherever he is, he’s not in Boston. And he’s not the man I’m engaged to, fake or not. Jason

I’m pacing again. This is a throwback to when Mel stepped back into my life a month ago. A pulsing mess of anxiety, frustration, and anger.

But not at her. At myself.

You’re messing it all up again.

Strange that I carry so much guilt when Mel is the one who left Harwinton a decade ago. For good reason, I know now, but still.

“Does it fit?”

She doesn’t answer, but the bedroom door opens. Add that to the list of things rattling around in my brain like little mindfucks—Mel Atkinson in my bedroom. In my adult bedroom, only feet away from my king-sized bed, with weeks of fantasies trapped away in the back of my mind…the things I want to do to her…

But the look she gives me makes it clear that Mel wouldn’t let me touch her with a ten foot pole at this point. Especially not in that dress.

It’s champagne-colored silk, draping over her body perfectly. Little triangles of fabric covering her chest just enough to be tastefully scandalous. A low back, the skirt flowing all the way to the floor. It pools there an inch or two deep—we’ll have to find her heels to match.

By “we,” I mean the personal stylist I occasionally enlist to help out with my wardrobe. A late-night phone call to Barry a few days ago had piqued his curiosity.A woman, hmm?

Older and widowed now, Barry lives vicariously through his clients. But I couldn’t get into it with him that night—how I’ve been royally fucking up one day after the next.

How signing Mel up for a public engagement party without asking her sealed her lips. She’s barely spoken to me at work, even when we go down to the café together or get lunch. People are starting to notice.

“You look beautiful.”

It’s true. And not meant to soften her up, though from the scoff she gives me, that’s obviously what she thinks I’m doing. She turns away, a glistening flash making me wonder if she’s crying.

Good crying or bad crying?Why would it be good crying, you idiot?

With her back to me, Mel comments, “You certainly cut it close.”

The engagement-slash-charity event is tomorrow night, August 16th. This date will be forever stuck in my mind and I’m already dreading it. Because despite the fact it’s supposed to be a celebration, it feels more like we’re preparing for a funeral.

“Imagine how bad of a real fiancé I’d be,” I deadpan, trying to lighten the mood.

But it still feels like there’s a gulf between us.

Mel sighs and turns. Her face is solemn, tired. “Why do you seem so nervous? You’re the one who orchestrated this whole thing.”

Not entirely true; the PR firm that Dupont Analytics consults with arranged it all.

“I don’t know.”

Another tidbit of the truth.

Unable to stop myself, I start pacing again.

“You were right. Zach has been nosing around.” I glance at her, wondering if she’s going to mention the fact that Zach has also been down to the fifth floor again. Prowling around her office. From the reports I’m getting, Mel has done a good job of avoiding him, but that doesn’t always stop rumors.

She remains silent. She only watches and waits.

“Roy will be making his decision soon and announcing it at his retirement party. He’s been meeting with legal a lot.” I roll my shoulders. “Maybe that’s it.”

Or maybe it’s that you’ve planned an entire engagement party for the woman you once dreamed of marrying without telling her. And she wants nothing more than to be far, far away from you.

“How’s Jodie?” I ask abruptly.

Anything to get away from thoughts of how I’ve been tripping over my own feet for the past week.

Mel crosses her arms. “Fine.” Her brows knit. “I don’t know. We haven’t really talked, just texted.” Guilt flits across her features.

“Does she know…?”

The question brings tears to Mel’s eyes, and now I’m sure that’s what I saw before. Annoyed with herself, she lifts a hand and dashes the tears away. “No. I was avoiding her at first, but I haven’t really been able to get in touch with her. Not for a phone call, at least. She texted to let me know she made her dialysis appointment a few days ago and—”

She chokes out a little sob.

“What if she already knows, and she’s mad at me?”

Unable to stop myself, I step forward and pull Mel into a hug. It’s strange, how easy this is—like we’re right back where we started all those years ago. At first, she’s stiff. But then she relaxes into my arms and lays her head against my chest, sniffing lightly.

“I’m sure she’s not,” I murmur into her hair. It smells of lavender and coconut. “She probably didn’t even see it, Mel. Remember how the papers used to pile up on the front steps?”

A little chuckle sneaks out.

“Mmm. But everything is digital these days.”

She has a point.