Chapter 22

Olivia

I’d ignored every message and call, and I’d purposefully avoided the living area at six, when Beckett had said he’d arrive. But he hadn’t.

The apartment was quiet, apart from Penny, who let out a couple bouts of laughter as she zoomed one of her toy cars across the floor.

Morning light streamed through the windows and filled the living room and kitchen. The dishes were done. We’d already had breakfast—ham and cheese omelets for the win—and I was on my second cup of coffee, with my phone in hand, deleting Beckett’s messages one by one.

After I’d gotten home yesterday, I’d decided that the whole “chase in the park” thing had been a combination of stress, paranoia, and the sense of impending danger hanging around my neck at the moment.

No way was that guy after me. He’d had a cell phone, and that was it.

And it was for that reason I hadn’t called anyone about it. Especially not Beckett.

Stop thinking about him.

But how could I not?

I twirled the fake diamond ring on my finger, using my thumb to pad it in circles, and carried my mug of coffee through to the living room. I set it down on the coffee table, sat, and smiled at Penny.

“Are you having fun?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said and drew the ‘s’ on the end out into a ‘th’ noise.

“Tomorrow, your teddy bear will be ready, and we can fetch it from that nice lady down the road,” I said. We’d dropped off the dress yesterday, after I’d gotten over the panic, and the tailor—a sweet old Italian lady with a head of gray hair and raisin eyes—had insisted she’d have it done by tomorrow.

Penny clapped her hands at me. “I love dat bear.”

“You haven’t even met her yet,” I said.

“It’s a boy,” Penny insisted.

“A boy! He’s purple.”

“It’s a purp-al boy.”

“What will you name him?” I asked.

Penny’s little eyebrows knitted together. She wriggled her nose and snorted, then grinned, showing a few pearly whites and a lot of pink gum. “I call him Beck Poo!”

Like Winnie the Pooh with a dollop of destruction.

And lies.

Was he truly comfortable lying about this engagement?

The images had gone up on social media yesterday, and I hadn’t heard a thing from George and Nicki. I hadn’t been served with custody papers, yet, but I’d have to make an appointment with my lawyer soon, regardless.

God, this was too complicated.

“Beck poo,” Penny repeated.

“Yes, darling. That’s an awesome name for your bear.” Even though it’d kill me to hear it daily.

But if this was what Penny needed to help her settle, so be it. Besides, the silky fabric surely wouldn’t last long, and Penny would get bored with it then ask for something else. She couldn’t name them all Beck poo, could she?

Oh god, she would. She totally would.

And then I’d be stuck with the legacy of him forever.

Which brought me to my next mental breakdown point. I couldn’t avoid Beckett forever, and he’d want to see Penny—and she him—after this whole charade was over. I’d have to find a way to cut off my feelings for him.

Great job sleeping with him, Olivia. Great job. It’s not like he can totally destroy your emotions all over again or anything.

My cell phone rang on the coffee table, and I lifted it and answered. “Hello?”

“Ms. Abbott, sorry to contact you via your cell phone, but your intercom isn’t functioning, it appears.” It was the security detail from the front desk. The blond dude who’d let up Nicki and George.

“Yeah, I—uh, yeah. What’s up?” I asked. I’d taken the receiver off its cradle so they wouldn’t be able to reach me in the event that Beckett turned up.

“I’ve got a woman down here who wants to see you. Her name is Bebe Jackson?”

“Oh. Oh! OK, let her up, please.”

“As you say, Ms. Abbott.”

“Thank you,” I replied, and hung up.

I exhaled a thin stream of breath: one part relief, two parts disappointment. It wasn’t Beckett. It was Bebe. Which was a good thing. We’d kind of reclaimed our friendship yesterday afternoon on the phone.

If I knew Bebe, she’d arrive with a bottle of merlot, a smile, and questions.

That was her version of support.

“We’re going to have a visitor,” I said, to Penny. I pushed off from the sofa and gave her a quick kiss, then made my way to the door just as the knock came. Two light raps. Not much like Bebe at all. She was insistent. Demanding. Totally high maintenance.

I unlatched the door and opened up.

Bebe stood on the threshold, her blond locks piled high as usual, makeup caking her features. She’d chosen cherry red lipstick, dark eyeshadow, and blush that made her look more like a porcelain doll than a real person.

She extended a bottle of merlot, and I laughed. “Thanks,” I said. “Come on inside.”

“I don’t know if I should.” Her voice quavered.

“What? Why? Is everything okay?”

Bebe sniffled and blocked her nose as if that’d somehow stopper the tears. “Ugh,” she said, nasal now. “Trust you to care about what’s upset me when you’ve got so much going on in your life. Can’t you be less than perfect for one second? Like, be a bitch to me. Please.”

“What the heck are you talking about?” I asked.

Bebe shook her head and tilted it back, blinking. “Gawd, I’m totally going to mess up my mascara.”

“Come inside,” I said and grabbed her by the elbow, dragging her into the living room.

“Beck poo?” Penny called out, then spotted Bebe and harrumphed. She sat back down and picked up her first words book and paged through it. No Beck poo, no deal, apparently.

I shut the door, and Bebe sniffled again.

She’d always had a tendency toward melodrama. “OK, so what’s up?”

“Something happened. Something bad. I’m not proud of it, OK? I just—I want you to know how sorry I am before we talk about this. I was a bad friend. A shitty friend,” Bebe blabbered on. “And in my defense, I was drunk, so—”

I set down the bottle of wine and guided Bebe toward the sofa. I sat her down, smiling at her for encouragement, but that only elicited another flood of tears and hiccups. She touched beneath her eyes with two fingers and checked them studiously for mascara leakage.

“Bebe, what the hell is going on?”

“Have you checked your social media this morning? Like Facebook or Twitter or anything?” she asked.

“Beebs, I don’t have any of those. You know that.” I’d shut them down shortly after Michael’s death. All of it had seemed so pointless. I’d been meaning to close the accounts for a while, since I wasn’t regular at posting, and that’d been the final push.

“Right, oh, god, I forgot. Oh, that makes this worse.” Bebe swallowed.

In the playpen, Penny was totally wrapped up in her book. She didn’t care for Bebe’s tears.

Kids were awesome. They were so face-value. If Penny didn’t like you, you knew about it—much as I had in the beginning.

“Makes what worse? God, can you spit it out already? You’re giving me hives.” I chuckled to lighten the mood, but it didn’t work.

“I was drunk last night, and I was out at Liquid, and I saw Beck there,” Bebe said. It flowed out of her in one breath. “Fuck, fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“Please don’t curse in front of Penny,” I said and glanced at her. She wasn’t paying attention, but kids picked up stuff so far. “What are you sorry about?” I asked.

“I kissed him. I told him that I wanted to be with him. And I told him that I knew that you guys were faking the whole fiancée thing. I’m such a shi—terrible person,” she said. “I’m such a bad, bad person, but you have to understand, Olivia, I’m just so—ugh. Oh my god.”

I blinked on repeat. It was as if every close and open of my eyelids was meant to clear my mind, except it didn’t. Everything just got worse. More complicated. I couldn’t form a word.

Bebe cleared her throat then fanned her face, pressing out her pouty lips. “OK, so, you have to understand that I’ve always been jealous of you. Like, hearing that Beckett slept with you killed me. I’ve been in love with him for months.”

“Months,” I said, at last. Mirth trickled through the shock. Or maybe it was just a symptom of it.

I’ve loved Beckett since I was a teen. Since before you even knew he existed.

I didn’t say it out loud because I had a modicum of dignity left. I wasn’t about to fight over him when he’d already driven me to the brink of panic and destruction.

But Bebe? What the hell was I supposed to do with this information?

“You kissed him,” I said, my eyes flicking back and forth in my skull. “Did you sleep with him?” What did it matter? He wasn’t mine! But still, I had to know. I had to know if he’d slept with her last night. If I meant anything at all on any level to him.

“God, no. He told me that I was nothing. I was drunk, and the kiss was sloppy. I kind of just threw myself at him like a bi—dog in heat,” she said and winced. “It doesn’t matter except for the fact that there were other people there who saw, and I think someone heard, because it’s all over social media that your engagement is fake.”

My stomach thudded to the floor. “What?”

“Yeah.” Bebe nodded. “But I—it’s weird though because the article I read about it this morning on this one website was dated from like, yesterday afternoon, not this morning. So maybe it got out some other way first?”

“I—that’s irrelevant,” I said and pushed up off the sofa. I paced back and forth in front of the coffee table, and Bebe lifted her feet to avoid getting trampled.

“I’m so, so sorry, babe. I know this is bad. I know I shouldn’t have kissed him and—”

“Stop, I don’t care about the kiss.”

Liar, liar, hair on fire. You care in a big way.

“OK? Well, maybe you should.”

“Huh?” I didn’t stop pacing. Nausea washed against the inside of my stomach. This was bad. This was past bad. It was disastrous. We could deny the engagement was fake, but it was still out there, and this was definitely something Nicki and George could use against me.

God, why had I gone along with this stupid idea?

Why had I made such a terrible decision? It was as if I’d just proved everyone right.

I wasn’t responsible. I wasn’t capable. I wasn’t—

“I think he’s falling for you,” Bebe said, softly. “You should have heard the way he spoke about you last night, babe. He—he really cares.”

“No,” I replied. “He doesn’t care. He’s never shown me anything but passion or disdain, and I’m done with that. I made this stupid decision to go along with the fake fiancée thing because I didn’t believe I could do this on my own. I felt like I needed Beckett’s support and his, ugh, his presence, and that’s not true. I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone. I’ve got to figure this out on my own.”

“Babe—”

“Bebe, no. I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t want to talk about anything. Right now, all I want to do is give Penny her snack and spend time with her.” I won’t let them take her away from me! I won’t.

“All right, but—”

“Thank you for being honest with me,” I said and cut across her. “I think you should leave.”

Bebe paled and pressed those fingers to the circles beneath her eyes again. Her bottom lip trembled. “But—”

“Please,” I said.

Bebe rose from the sofa and collected her wine. She walked to the door, and I didn’t watch her, didn’t say goodbye. Five seconds later, the door clicked shut.

My mask crumbled a little. My knees shook.

I walked to Penny’s playpen and bent in front of it. She scrambled to her chubby feet and toddled over, grinning big. “Libya!” She threw her arms around my neck and held on tight. “We go get Beck poo now?”

“No, baby, not now.” And I couldn’t figure out whether it was the bear she wanted or the man himself.

Life was about to change for us again. In a big and potentially disastrous way.

“I love you, Penny,” I whispered. “I love you so much.”

“Love you, too, Libya.”

And that was it. That was the moment my heart truly broke.