Page 100 of Heavy Crown

“We don’t end this way,” he says. “We’re not ending this way, Rory.”

I can’t stay at this door. The pain in his voice and my own longing to see him one last time are going to pierce what’s left of my resolve. If he picked the lock, I’d take him into my bed and bolt him into my heart. I would never let him leave.

In the bathroom, I lock that door too. The murmur of his voice penetrates the cottage, but the words are lost. Whatever he’s saying, I can’t hear it.

I cover my ears and collapse on the bath mat with a sob. This is the right thing to do. He can’t give up his whole life, no matter how much my heart roars its protest.

The limo is visible from a window in the kitchen. I could pretend the shiny black drew my eye, but I’ve been on pins and needles, waiting.

The flour container is by the window. I grab some measuring cups and go to the workstation that lets me look out without appearing too interested. While I scoop from the industrial-sized container under the wooden counter, my heart beats an unsteady rhythm. This must be her. Panic is a vise across my chest.

I want to see her.

And I don’t.

She needs to seem real for me to resist going to Alex, for me to stop myself from changing my mind. Would it even matter if I had a change of heart now?

How long did Alex stay outside my cottage last night? I lay waiting for him to leave long enough for sleep to drag me under. When I woke, I was curled on the bath mat in a tight ball, but his voice no longer echoed through my empty apartment.

Out the window, I catch a glimpse of a dark-blue suit and shoulders I’ve traced a thousand times with my fingertips, dug my nails into on the brink of tumbling over a cliff.

The back door of the limo opens, and when she steps out, there’s a wide smile on her lips. Tall. Slim. Dark hair. Little black dress. So much makeup. She kisses both of Alex’s cheeks, and the blood drains from my body.

She’s beautiful, and she’ll be his wife. Sleep in his bed. Have his children. Be with him forever. She’ll map his body with her lips and fingertips the same way I did.

I grip the side of the workstation to keep from collapsing in a heap on the floor. Their silhouettes grow hazy out the window with my unshed tears.

A rough palm eases across my back, and when I glance beside me, Joyce is watching with me. “He’s taking her to the wedding?”

I cover my mouth with a floury hand and nod. Tears slip down my cheeks, and I brush them away quickly.

“So that’s it then, is it?”

“That’s it,” I whisper, and the thickness in my throat makes it hard to speak.

She hugs me to her side. “Take the rest of the day off.”

I shake my head. A few other tears slide down my face, and I sweep them away with my fingers. “No, no. Going to my apartment would be worse. There’s a lot to do with the wedding tomorrow.”

Weeks ago I signed up for overtime to work the wedding alongside the catering company. At the time I thought it would be fun to catch a glimpse of Alex while I served tables, but now I hope I don’t see him at all.

“You sure?” she asks, and there’s so much kindness in her weathered face. “You’ve got a support system?”

I brace my hands against the counter. I’ve got Posey. At least this time, I’ve got someone. “Yeah,” I manage to get out. “I have someone.”

She squeezes my arm and returns to managing the rest of the kitchen. When I glance around the huge space, everyone else has their gaze averted.

Their pity threatens to drag me deeper, and I can’t afford that. I already feel like I’m drowning. Running my hands over the top of my hair, I suck in an unsteady breath.

Just keep moving forward. Keep moving forward, and soon this will all be behind me.

thirty-seven

Alex

I stare at myself in the bedroom mirror. My black eyes have never been so hollow, and there are dark rings under them. The wedding isn’t until tomorrow, so at least I have another night to try to sleep before the press makes up some narrative about why I appear so awful. Not that I’ve had any luck sleeping this week. Will one night be enough?

Every time I drift into unconsciousness, I dream of her. Visceral, vivid dreams. The kind that only leave disappointment and deep despair in their wake. An alternate reality where she didn’t reject me and the life I wanted us to have.