He didn’t bother returning to the party. James just swept my body up into his arms and carried me to his suite, where he proceeded to fuck me senseless for the next six hours.

Later, in the very early morning, I’m drifting to sleep when I feel a light touch on my face. James is curled next to me, leaning over me. His low voice is whisper soft.

“Stay with me, Darcy.”

“I want to.”

I drift off to sleep in his arms, feeling blissfully content.

A loud noise rips me from sleep. Groggy, naked in bed, I tug the sheet to my breasts and blink around in the dark. A second later, hard, bitter light floods into the bedroom, and I see James’s form by the window.

I watch, stunned, as he stalks across the rug with fury twisting his familiar features. He glowers over me, tossing a stack of newspapers onto the coverlet.

“Are you fucking serious with this? Just what did you and that motherfucker think you were going to get out of me, you lying bitch?”

“James, what?”

“Who the fuck is Denny Ellis!”

My eyes fill with tears as I shake my head, dismayed. “Denny? Denny’s my brother. What’s wrong with you?”

“Take a look, sister. See for yourself.” He tosses a paper at me, and I blink down at it.

He tosses me another one. I frown.

Pictures of James and me at the party and different events this past week. Smiling, light. Is that why he’s angry? We were photographed together dozens of times. Then he tosses me a tabloid-sized paper, and I see its headline.

Under the headline is a picture of James and his wife Annette, designed so it looks like it’s been torn in two. Annette’s half is paired with a grainy photo of Denny from his college days. James’s half is paired with a photo of me.

“Why is Denny with your wife?”

“Because your brother was fucking my wife when she died! That’s why.”

“He—what? My brother Denny?”

“Your brother. Your poor, ailing brother, who just happened to be in an accident the same night my wife ended up dead! And a year and half later, his sweet sister turns up in my bed. I don’t care what sick plan the two of you cooked up, but you’re not going to get a thing. Nothing! I bought it all, the whole bullshit story you fed me. Christ, what an idiot,” he sneers. The Ice King is back, the towering, forbidding giant that almost froze me out the completely the first day, as though none of the last week even happened.

The newspapers have all tumbled to the floor. The pile on the carpet doesn’t move, but they might as well be a writhing, twisting pile of vipers.

James is livid. His inner demon is back, and this time I think the leash is slipping, because whatever it is seems to be tearing him apart from the inside out as he pants and glowers down at me.

“James, please listen to me. I have no idea how any of this happened, if it’s even true. I didn’t lie to you. I’ve never even heard of this. Denny wasn’t—I don’t think he was seeing anyone around the time that happened. He’s always been a free spirit, never tied down or anything like that.”

“Yeah, well, I guess that free spirit is what made it okay to fuck a married woman and destroy her life. Is it the same ‘free spirit’ that turned his sister into a whore?”

That word between us is a knife. It splits the room, it tears the air. It opens a thousand bleeding, hemorrhaging cuts inside my heart and stomach.

James draws himself up into ice and steel, his face pale. I can barely see through the pain and tears, that filthy word still ringing in my ears. If I breathe too deep it will hurt, and I can’t walk out of here on my own if he hurts me too deeply like this again. So, I only nod and turn my back when he speaks again.

“Go, Darcy.” His voice is hoarse. “Get off my property and get off this mountain, before I have you thrown out.”

* * *

I’ve kept the tears in just long enough to get on a plane. I didn’t bother to collect anything but my overnight case. I don’t want any of the clothes or dresses that Rina sent. I’m sure they’ll toss them out. I can’t bring myself to care.

The dam breaks somewhere over the Midwest, and when the tears start, they will not stop.

I try to tell my heart it was a job. It fell apart, but through no fault of mine. My only mistake was letting my imagination get the better of me. I tried to identify with and feel empathy for a client—the one thing Rina warned me not to do.

I say the words over and over, hold them to my chest. A client. A job. A client. A job. That’s all. The universe has a crazy and cruel sense of humor—I mean, what is this, two degrees of separation? One? None? It defies credulity—I guess I can see where James would find it hard to believe I really didn’t know. The only comfort I have is the truth. I had no idea. And unless Rina has some connection to any of this—which again, seems impossible—then the only thing that’s left is the cold comfort in knowing where I truly stand. It was just a coincidence. A miserable coincidence.

Every fiber of my body feels weary and sick, and I just want to go home. But then I realize there’s no way I can face Denny right now. But I can’t confront him either. That’s the other sick part of this: he’s still in the dark. For all my brother knows, I’m just coming back early from my ski and spa because they tried to sell me timeshares after all. Home and all its problems are still waiting when I get back, but at least there I know who I am and what my life is about.

So why do I feel empty as I think about it?