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A bell sounds. The front door. I wipe the tears from my eyes and take a few more shaky breaths. This can’t be Ankor back already. It’s probably a package for delivery, or maybe he sent roses again. He did that two days ago when he needed to leave for a while to run some errands—I cast a sideways glance at the white bouquet of roses still in full bloom on the kitchen counter.
Then I pad across to the door panel and tap the voice button. “Hello?”
There’s a beep and a flash as the panel lights up to show me who’s standing outside. My eyebrows shoot up in recognition.
“Yeah, hi, is Marco around?” asks Margot.
“He had to run into the office for a bit,” I reply. “Do you want to come up?”
There’s a pause. I can see the hesitation on her face over the camera. I wonder if she remembers she’s on video right now. Then she smiles and replies, “Sure.”
I buzz her in and wait for the doorman to show her up. A few minutes and the whir of the elevator later, she’s stepping into the foyer.
I greet her with a hug and usher her toward the kitchen. “I was just about to put coffee on if you want some?”
“That’d be great, thanks.” She deposits a shopping bag on one chair and slumps into another, running her hand through her hair until it all sticks on end. “Listen, I don’t know if you’ve been online lately…”
“I saw the video some girl named Lily posted, if that’s what you’re talking about?” I grimace, pouring us each a cup of the fancy free trade kind Ankor likes.
Margot groans. “I was hoping to warn you away from it.”
“Stalker ex?” I guess.
“Something like that.” Margot twirls a piece of hair around one finger as she sips her coffee. “Lily and Marco dated for a while. Then she started doing things…” Margot grimaces. “It was subtle at first. She’d charge stuff to his cards, then pretend like she thought she told him about it. By the end she had this whole song and dance about how she’d be out on the streets unless he helped her financially…” She shook her head. “Classic Marco. He paid off all her debt, in full, and then changed all his cards and told her it was over. Of course, the minute he walked out, she changed her tune. ‘I love you, I miss you,’ all the usual bullshit.”
“Trying to lure him back in so she could reestablish control,” I reply, nodding.
Margot’s gaze darts to mine, sharpening. “Got some experience in that area or something?”
“Enough.” I scowl, and she seems to take the hint.
“Anyway, don’t listen to her. She’s just trying to guilt him into either giving her more money or paying her to shut up, one or the other.”
“I know,” I say.
Margot blinks at me, as if that’s surprising. “You didn’t wonder if maybe…”
“Not for a second.” I roll my eyes. “I know An—Marco. He’d never lie to me about something like that.”
To judge by the little smile at curls around his sister’s lip, I’ve impressed her. She leans back in her chair, relaxing slightly, and takes another long sip of her coffee. “So, Sinclair. You never told me about your past.”
“Not much to tell.” I shrug. “I had, shall we say, a comparable-to-Lily ex, ran away to the island life, and met your brother. I honestly…” I laugh a little.
She leans forward. “What? Tell me.”
“I honestly believed the whole pool boy act,” I say. By now, Ankor has told his family what he spent the few months in Maui doing. None of them believed it until I backed him up. And mentioned that there were about half a dozen old women at the resort still who’d vouch for him.
Margot laughs. “Was he that good an actor?”
“He was that good a teacher.” My face flushes. “Without him, I never would have been able to conquer my fears, at least when it comes to the water. But with him there helping me… suddenly the deep end didn’t seem as scary anymore.” I glance around his apartment now. “I feel kind of similarly now,” I admit. “All this…” I gesture vaguely at the splendor. “I’m not used to this kind of life. It feels like the deep end. But being with Marco helps. Around him, I feel like I can be myself. No matter how underdressed I look.”
Margot laughs. Her gaze drifts over my clothes, lingering for a bit. “Well, one of these things we can fix, at least.”
“One of what things?” I blurt, but she’s already setting her coffee cup aside, and reaching out to grab mine.
“Come on,” she says. “If you’re going to stay in Marco’s world—and I hope you will, because honestly, you seem good for him—then you’re going to need the uniform to match.”
