Page 23 of Entwined With You

Fuck it.

With a sudden impulse, he cut across two lanes of traffic, and barely made the exit for Mulholland.

“Not to be picky, but my hotel’s in Santa Monica. Which I’m pretty sure isn’t off of Mulholland Drive.”

“Big plans tonight?”

“Oh, absolutely. A wild night of partying at the No-Tell Motel.” She put her feet back up on the dash and twined her fingers behind her head. “I’m just a party hound.”

“I’ve got someplace I want to show you.”

She tilted her head to look at him. “Where?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

He hadn’t driven Mulholland in months, and it took a while to find the scenic overlook that looked out over the San Fernando Valley. The sun had set almost an hour ago, and the vista below them seemed like more of a starry landscape than the sky above, the actual stars dim from the ambient light and the glow of a full moon.

“This is one of my favorite places. Sabrina found it. She loved driving this road. We used to get take-out and just sit on the hood of the car and eat dinner and watch the lights below us.

“It’s beautiful.” Her voice was soft, almost reverential. “She—she told me about that. I tried to picture what she described.”

“How’d you do?”

She turned to him, her face shining in the moonlight. “It was beautiful in my mind. But even that didn’t come close.” She reached out and gave his hand a little squeeze. “Thanks,” she said, withdrawing her hand far too quickly.

“You’re welcome.”

For a moment, they just sat there, her looking out at the view. Him, looking at her.

“She used to tell me that this kind of view was why she liked driving in mountains. Because it made her feel small, just like all the people down there. Not in a bad way, but in a way that meant she was—”

“—part of something bigger,” Samantha continued. “That no matter what wrong turns she may have taken, she was still part of the whole of society. She had a place and a history. And maybe not as many people would know her history. She wasn’t Queen Elizabeth or Amelia Earhart. But she was alive on earth, and that was kind of wonderful.”

“She was wonderful.”

Samantha grinned. “I won’t argue with that.”

“We came here before—well, the night before the heist. I brought her here. I asked her to marry me.”

“You told her you were going to ask her after the heist. And you gave her your ring.”

He turned to face her, frowning. “She told you that?”

“We talked all the time. I told you that.”

“I just—I mean, when? We came here, we went back to the apartment to go over the plan. We—we, uh, went to bed. I was just wondering when she called you.”

“It was a short call. Maybe from the bathroom? I don’t know. She didn’t say. But she wanted to tell me. She was excited, especially about the ring.”

“It was my mother’s.”

“Your father killed her.” The words were flat and factual, but he heard the sympathy underneath.

“He was never arrested, but yes. And the ring had been a gift from Mom’s parents before the wedding. A gold band etched with a pattern of two threads intertwined. I took it off her finger at the funeral. I was only nine. I hid it, and I put it on the night I ran away.”

“She didn’t tell me how you got it, but she told me how much it meant to you.”

“When I gave it to her up here, I told her it would be her wedding ring. I’d intended to take it back. Keep it with me until the wedding, but she wanted to wear it on her right hand, and then have me move it to her left during the ceremony.”