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"She has to think the arrangement was all it ever was," he says.

"Yes."

"You're going to make her believe it was never real."

I can see the look in his eyes that he doesn't like where this is going.

"Yes," I say.

"To protect her," he confirms, as if trying to understand what the hell I'm thinking.

"Yes."

Levi's jaw tightens. "That is the stupidest damn thing I've ever heard."

"I know."

We stand there in the quiet. Whiskey burning low in my chest. The city doing what it does beyond the windows—moving on, not caring, being Seattle.

"I haven't figured out how to do it yet," I say.

Levi doesn't answer right away.

Then he says, very quietly, "There's no good way to do it."

No… There isn't.

I'm going to look at the woman I love and tell her it was never real.

And I'm going to be convincing enough that she believes me.

Chapter Thirty

ARIA

I hear the front door a little after eight.

Not loud. Just the quiet click of it opening and shutting somewhere below me, followed by footsteps crossing the foyer.

Relief hits so fast it almost makes me dizzy.

He's home.

I set my brush down too quickly, wipe my hands on the rag beside the sink, and head for the studio door before I can think too hard about what I'm doing. I probably have paint on my wrists. I definitely have paint on my wrists. I don't care. Whatever has been wrong for the last two days—the dead texts, the absence, the cold spot where he used to be—he's here now.

Which means we can finally talk.

By the time I reach the landing, he's halfway through the foyer below.

Suit jacket still on. Tie loosened. One hand resting on the edge of the entry table like he's holding himself there by force.

"Everett."

He looks up.

And immediately, something inside me goes still.

Not because he's angry.