Saturday afternoon, at my behest, we went to the Lodge to go over the location for the gala again because now I was worried there wouldn’t be enough space. Reuben had called late on Friday evening to say that he would perform. It would be his first public appearance since leaving the US, making it impossible to gauge whether Reuben or Pearl was now our biggest drawcard. Having both of them was turning this little fundraiser into an event that would be talked about all year.

Of course, the venue had to be spectacular, and Oliver and Cole were patient, dragging a table around that I could climb onto and envision a view of the stage. I practised sitting in various places, working out how best to optimize the spectacular landscape.

I paced across the lawn and looked back to where the stage would be set up, then raised my arms and slapped them back to my sides. “This is no good.”

Oliver and Cole waited. This morning they’d become used to me walking, stopping, turning, expressing my ideas out loud.

“Are you going to tell us why?” Cole asked without a hint of impatience.

“We need more space. Pearl and Reuben Creed. We could sell ten thousand times the tickets we’re offering. I can’t even imagine the companies who are going to want to come on board with this and donate stuff for the auction just so that they can be associated with those two names. We can start earlier and have—”

From behind, Oliver slung an arm around my waist, and covered my mouth with his hand. “Slow down, big thinker.”

I closed my eyes, enjoying the heat of our bodies pressed together and tasted his palm with my tongue before remembering Cole was with us.

“If I let you go, do you promise to listen to me for a minute?” Oliver asked.

I nodded, and his hand slipped way.

“I love your big ideas, but we’re only seven weeks out so we can’t do a big concert, okay?”

“Big meanie,” I said.

“Let me kiss away your disappointment—”

Cole interrupted with a cough. “I seem to have become superfluous so I’ll cut and run. See you guys tonight.”

“Thanks for your help,” I called before facing Oliver again. “It’s okay. I understand there’s no time and that this event is quite different to putting on a rock concert. I got carried away. You’ve got to watch me for that.”

“I’m going to take you home, and you can get as carried away as you want. Remember, we have staging people, and lighting people. When are you meeting with them?”

“Next week.”

“Exactly. You can boss them around, and I’m sure they’ll have some great ideas. All I want you to do is control them and keep them up to speed.”

“Delegate, delegate…I know.”

“Good. You’re the boss. Don’t forget it.”

We stopped at the farmer’s market on the way home, and then the liquor store. I was unpacking groceries as Oliver unloaded the car when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, swore, and hit the decline button, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Back in a minute,” he called.

I watched him head out to the patio and retrieve his phone. He paced for a moment then walked to the far side of the lawn to finish his call. His body language was tense but I refused to second guess whatever was going on and went back to putting away the groceries. He ran multi-million-dollar companies, restaurants and bars in town, and probably other things I didn’t know about. This irritation could be one of a thousand things.

I’d just finished when Oliver appeared again. His demeanor was the usual strong calmness I’d become used to, making me wonder if he, too, had a well-fitting mask.

“I’ve got some work things to attend to in my office. Why don’t you get ready for tonight? I won’t be long.”

I couldn’t help feeling like a child being sent from the room while the grown-ups talked adult, but I went ahead and took a shower alone, pushing aside the feeling that something unpleasant was taking place.

Post-shower, I was in the bedroom doing my hair when I heard the shower start again in the bathroom. A moment later Oliver called out that a message had just come on his phone and could I check it.

“I’ve been trying to contact Luther to find out what time he’s picking us up. The phone’s in my dressing room.”

I found it sitting on top of his clothes on a chair, the screen glowing with the preview message. I picked it up and swiped the message without thinking.

— My threats aren’t idle, O. What would your new gf think if she saw this? A —

A? Annabelle? I was still holding the phone when it buzzed again. Another message from A, but this time it was a video. I shouldn’t have touched it, but my heart was racing, wondering why Annabelle—if it was her sending the messages—was threatening to send it to me.

I touched the screen and the video began. It was filmed from a distance in what looked like an industrial area. Oliver was in shot, walking toward another man who stood against a wall near a dumpster. Whoever filmed it zoomed in and I watched what unfolded over the next few seconds.

My lungs deflated and calcified. No matter how much I tried to breathe, the air clogged in my throat. The room swam, and I dropped to the floor and got my head between my knees. Gradually, the darkness evaporated and I took a long, shuddering breath.

I left the phone on the floor, pulled on some shoes, and ran.

By the time I reached the front door I could hear Oliver calling, but all I could do was replay in my head the image of the man in the video. Not Oliver. The other person.

Rob.

My pulse pounded his name in my ears so that I slapped my hands over them to keep him out. I made it to the cottage, slipped in the door, pushed it closed and leaned against it.

Breathe.

In. Count. Out.

Repeat.

I can do this. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again.