Page 181 of Gilt

“How are you feeling about tomorrow?”

“I’m not really,” I admit. Part of the reason I agreed to go to therapy was the numbness that hadn’t abated since the night Josie jumped.

“Part of what you’re coping with is a sense of futility,” she explains. “Everything feels inevitable.”

“Isn’t it?” I ask. Life. Death. Taxes. I couldn’t escape any of it.

“Have you spoken to your mom?”

“She’s coming to grips with my pseudo-engagement.” After everything went down, Mom went through a sudden bout of maternal paranoia. She refused to accept the seriousness of my relationship with Jameson, but she stopped demanding I move in with her. “And she’s finally packed up all of Hans’s things.”

Mentioning my stepfather doesn’t move me either. I’m just as numb to what he did.

“How is Jameson?” she broaches the one topic that never fails to elicit an emotional reaction.

I smile begrudgingly. “Perfect.”

She knew this, of course. He’d been seeing her for the past few weeks as well. While my therapy consisted of open-ended questions and encouragement, he’d chosen a more proactive path.

“I have to ask, Emma, are you certain you want to return to Belle Mère tomorrow?”

O’Donnell isn’t the type to worry, but there’s concern in her voice. Given that I’m a walking time bomb, I can’t blame her.

“Yes.” I have other options, but I don’t want to cut and run. “It’s not the first time I’ll go back without…”

“Have you spoken with Monroe? She’ll be returning as well.”

My lips twitch at the suggestion that Jameson’s sister could be a source of companionship. I keep the thought to myself. Despite the fallout from that night’s revelations, Monroe had been there. It’s true that the Wests stick together.

“Well, you have my number. If you need to chat, I’ll be on standby.”

For the hourly rate she charges, I almost expect her to come with me and hold my hand tomorrow.

Outside the office, a comforting sight waits for me: Jameson paging through a magazine. When the door opens, he glances up, and a blinding smile spreads across his face. His therapy has been going better, judging from how often he gives me that look. “Ready?”

“If you are.” I hold out my hand, and he takes it.

It’s been a little harder for him to let me out of his sight of late. It’s one of the issues he’s working on with Dr. O’Donnell. Considering that I’m returning for my last year in the morning, I hope they’re making progress.

The truth is being together is the only medicine that seems to work. When he’s beside me, I can think about the future without pain. He makes me laugh. At night, we escape in each other’s arms for heated, fleeting moments, and when he falls asleep beside me, there are no nightmares.

Despite my objections, our new house has a gate. When I refused to skip out on my last year at Belle Mere, I had to compromise. When we pass, the reporters camped in front of it, it reminds me why he insisted.

“The sale went through,” he says, eying me for my reaction.

“Good.” I don’t think any other response is necessary. When he first told me that he wanted to sell the West Casino, I told him not to bother. Even if a new company slapped another name on it, it would still be there, lingering like a bad memory in the Las Vegas skyline. When he added that the terms of the sale required it to be torn down, I got on board. He’s been selling off most of the West real estate holdings ever since.

His phone rings as I grab the milk carton out of the fridge. He checks the screen and sighs.

“Mom or Monroe?” I ask.

“Mom.” He accepts the call, wandering into his office.

Getting rid of the casino has freed him up to mediate between his mother and sister. Monroe had surprised all of us when she turned the scandalous leak about her secret identity into a reality show. Jameson took me house shopping the next day.

My own mother had opted to keep her place in Palm Springs, even after I turned down her offer to move in with her. She, along with my dad, had given their blessing for my new living arrangements after some coercion. I’d been forced to flash my diamond ring and ask if they wanted grandbabies now or later. We quickly came to an understanding.

“It’s just crass enough to work,” Jameson says with disgust as he reappears. “A high school madam. What will reality TV think of next?”