As it happens, Sebastian’s warning was well founded. Of the three women monopolizing Alex’s attention, one in particular sets off every territorial alarm in my body. She’s gorgeous in all ways money can buy, with the body of a porn star and the carriage of a ballerina. Her crimson gown is just shy of scandalous, slit to the thighs and backless. The color should clash horribly with her red hair, but unfortunately, the overall look is flawless and vibrant.

As much as I’d like to claw her eyes out, I don’t immediately approach. I find a bar and order a vodka tonic, which I drink in four long swallows. It earns me a few curious looks from bystanders but a wink from the bartender.

“Another?” he asks, grinning.

I smile slowly. “A Sidecar, please.”

Cocktail in hand, I weave my way through loosely clustered groups until I’m approaching Alex from the side. I don’t look at him. I stare at the redhead, who I’m confident is Eliza.

She laughs at something Alex’s says. Graceful tilt of her neck, coy touch of fingers to his bicep. He doesn’t discourage the contact. It stings a little, but I remind myself of Sebastian’s words. Alex will always play this game. And if I want him, I have to play too.

When I’m several feet away, the redhead notices me. Recognizes me. I’m assessed and dismissed in two seconds. All the while, her attention stays with Alex. The sweet smile never falters, posture remaining relaxed. She is very, very good.

But I’m better.

“Mr. Hughes,” I say, my voice pitched low. His head turns sharply, body language opening to receive me. Eliza’s lips thin in annoyance but I don’t care about her anymore—the heat in Alex’s gaze almost shatters my poise.

“Ms. Sands,” he purrs. “I was about to send out a search party.”

I lower my chin just so, blink just so, and smile just so. His jaw clenches hard, darkness flaring in midnight eyes. I offer him the cocktail. When he takes it, I pass my fingers along his. There’s nothing overt in the touch. Nothing casual, either.

I shift a step closer to him. “Introduce me to your friends,” I say, offering the women a brief, gracious smile.

He reads me like words on a page, finishing my sentence by sliding his hand across my lower back. His fingers curl around my hip, guiding me gently to his side. “Ladies, this is Thea Sands. Thea, meet Eliza Holbrook, Amanda Perkins, and Joyce McClintock.”

Joyce of the harem? Alex’s fingers tighten, but the warning isn’t necessary. I’m smiling, shaking their hands, and complementing their dresses. Joyce and Amanda are lovely but pale in comparison to Eliza. Lambs beside a wolf.

Eliza says coolly, “And your gown, Thea. I don’t recognize it. Vintage?”

I nod. “Galliano. Isn’t it superb?”

She has no choice but to say, “Yes, it’s stunning.”

Check.

Over the noise of the crowd, Candace’s amplified voice says, “Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please! The auction will be beginning shortly. Please join Delilah’s Cause in raising money for breast cancer research. Get out those checkbooks and warm up your pens—we have some incredible items tonight!”

Polite laughter sounds. Around us, the crowd begins flowing toward the largest gazebo, where a grinning Candace stands waving, a microphone in hand.

“I’m so glad we’re finally meeting,” I say to Eliza. “Alex has told me so much about you. I feel like we’re already friends.”

False charms congeal.

Checkmate.

“Indeed,” she says stiffly. “Ladies, shall we head to the auction?” Amanda and Joyce nod, eager to please. Bolstered by their support, Eliza rallies and gives Alex her best smile. “It was wonderful seeing you, Alex. Let’s catch up sometime. Do lunch.”

I smile up at Alex. “Oh, let’s do that. Weren’t we just talking about getting out and socializing more?”

His eyes warm with suppressed mirth, but he replies easily, “Yes, we were.” To Eliza, he says, “Get in touch with Lucy and she’ll set something up. Have a great evening, Liz.”

Eliza’s smile turns brittle and falls as she turns away. We all know she won’t be calling Lucy. Joyce and Amanda escort her across the patio, and in moments Alex and I are alone. Or as alone as we can be.

Alex sets his untouched cocktail on the nearest table. I sigh as his fingers curl around the back of my neck. With gentle pressure, he turns me until we stand flush against each other.

He shakes his head, lips twitching. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or frightened by that little performance.”

Heart pounding, I gaze up at him. Now that Eliza’s gone, and it’s just Alex, my armor is cracking and falling away. “You’re mine,” I tell him, with more confidence than I feel.

His smile fades, eyes narrowing and heating. “I’m pleased you feel that way. You should know, Eliza—”

“I already know,” I interject. “I met Sebastian. He warned me about her.”

His brows lift. “Ah, let me guess… You found him sitting in the dark somewhere because you were looking for somewhere dark to sit.”

I smile guiltily. “Birds of a feather, apparently.”

He chuckles, thumb grazing my cheek. “I can see that.”

I blurt, “Did you love her very much?” He blinks, stiffening, and I flush. “I’m sorry, that’s a horrible question—”

“It’s all right,” he says softly. “You should know the truth. I believed I did—love her, that is. But I was young and gullible. She wasn’t who I thought she was, and I asked her to marry me for the wrong reasons. My mother was dying…” He glances away with a sigh. “I was twenty-six, confused, and afraid of being alone. Not one of my finer moments.”

I rest my cheek against his chest. His arms enfold me, a hand stroking over my back. “Oh, Thea,” he whispers. “What are we going to do?”

My heart leaps into my throat and my muscles lock. “About what?” I choke out.

He lifts my face, framing it, and gazes solemnly into my eyes. His lips are a firm line and he’s frowning deeply. My anxiety rises to a tingling burn in my stomach.

There are people around us, mingling loosely, and yet we’re surrounded by a wide buffer of empty space. Sounds blend into an indistinct hum in my ears. Beyond Alex, my vision is blurred. He’s the center of the sun and I have a sucking, sick feeling it’s about to explode.

“When I’m with you,” he says gravely, “I feel like I’ve known you my entire life, and that you’ve known me all of yours. I can’t explain it. I know you. But it doesn’t make any sense. We only met weeks ago. You scare the shit out of me, Thea.”

Blossoming relief fades with a sting. “What—why?” I fumble.

“Because you make me fucking crazy. You give me so much, but I want more. It’s irrational and unfair to you. You make me feel out of control. Desperate. I want… I want to fall in lo—” He chokes back the word. Breaking our eye contact, he stares sightlessly over my head.

I want to fall in love with you.

I teeter on a precipice with no idea what’s beneath me—rocks or his arms. “Alex…” I say hoarsely, “you already have everything. Everything I know how to give.”

“I know,” he says quietly, “and I understand why I can’t ask for more. In two weeks, I have to go back to Boston. I can’t stay in San Diego, and you can’t come with me.”

Rocks.

His tuxedo suddenly feels like sandpaper against my arms. I step back carefully, and he lets me go. Numbness rolls through me. It is very, very welcome.

“We shouldn’t have this conversation here,” I say softly but firmly.

I shouldn’t have said he was mine. I pushed him too far.

He nods, eyes shadowed and unreadable. “You’re right. Do you want to stay, or should I call the car?”

“The car, please.”

As we turn and walk toward the house, Sebastian’s sardonic voice calls, “Candace will have your balls if you leave, Alex.”

He’s lounging in a chaise near the rear of the house, a cocktail in one hand, legs crossed at the ankle. His bow tie and jacket are skewed, but instead of looking slovenly, he looks piratical. As we near him, black eyes roam my face, then harden as they shift to Alex. “What have you done, old friend?” he murmurs.

Alex stiffens with anger. “Sebastian—”

I say quickly, “Nothing. I have a headache and need to leave.”

Sebastian blinks slowly, then smiles. Bright and false. Thank you, I tell him with my eyes. He lifts his glass to Alex. “Your balls have been pardoned by the word of a lady. Take care of her.”

Alex growls, “I’m trying,” and takes my hand, pulling me into the house.

There are a few event staff lingering inside, but no one pays us much attention as we exit the front door. Alex releases my cold fingers to make a call. By the time we reach the curb, the limo is idling.

I’m abruptly struck by the notion of sitting alone with him for two hours.

“Thea?”

He’s holding open the back door. My mind races. Can I call a cab? Do I know someone in Los Angeles?

The dark voice says, “Get in the car.”

The command moves my feet. Disgusted with myself, I enter the limo and veer toward the seats behind the driver. Alex sits on the back bench and slams the door. The limo pulls away from the curb. I watch him unbutton his jacket and loosen his bow tie.

“This isn’t how I pictured tonight ending,” he mutters. I don’t say anything, turning my head to stare out the nearest window. Sometime later—minutes that feel like hours—we merge onto a freeway.

I decide that a broken heart affects time in the opposite manner of happiness. Instead of speeding the moments, it slows them. Maybe I should study quantum physics, I muse absently.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Thea.”

“You already have. Several times.”

He takes a short breath, and whispers, “I know. I’m sorry.”

Numb. I am numb. Beneath the calm, I’m a gibbering mess that wants to beg. Don’t leave me. Ask me to come with you. I love you. But thank God and Margaret, I still have my dignity.

Still staring out the window, I tell him, “I take full responsibility. I ignored the warnings. You’re a hurricane and you swept me away.”

“Don’t say that. Please, come over here.”

I shake my head. “I can’t think when you touch me.” I can’t think at all.

“I don’t want to lose you like this.”

I laugh caustically and look at him. “As opposed to what? Did you honestly expect an amiable San Diego booty-call whenever you’re in town?”

He hesitates, and I turn to solid ice. For the first time, I’m unaffected by his beauty and virility. The words I’ve so longed to speak rise, emerging glacial and twisted, “I fell in love with you, Alexander Hughes, just like you wanted. Everything, isn’t that right? Well, you have it. And now, I can’t wait for Hemlock to open so I never have to see you again.”

His lips part and he coils to move—I lift my hand. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Thea,” he says, strangled.

“I’m done talking,” I snap, and unclasp the necklace. I toss it to the floor between us where it crumples, a glittering, tangled mess. “You said this ends when one of us wishes it to. Well, I wish it. The end.”

After the words is silence, which stays, thick and unbroken, through the longest two hours of my life.

* * *

Lillian once asked me, upon finding out my tattooing sessions lasted five hours, how I could stand the pain for so long. The truth is, after the first half hour or so, the body is flooded with endorphins. For the next hour, sometimes two, there is no pain. Hours three through five, however, redefine unpleasant. Thus, Sunday morning I wake up with a pounding headache and eyes nearly swollen shut.

My mind, conversely, is clear, my thoughts weightless and few. I’ve felt this way before, after making large decisions with which the universe agrees. Leaving home, cutting myself off financially from my mother, kicking Damien out… And now, saying goodbye to Alex.

When the universe approves, the spirit is relieved of burdens. Some of them, anyway.

I go for a run, then do the week’s grocery shopping. I put last night’s gown in a bag for donation, then clean my room, do three loads laundry, and borrow nail polish from Lillian’s bathroom. I paint my toenails, then acetone the polish off. I clean the condo from top to bottom.

I return a phone call I’ve been ignoring for a week, from the only father I’ve known. Polite conversation lasts less than a minute before I’m yelling belligerently. He takes it without comment, a willing channel for my rage and grief.

Afterward, with tears clogging his throat, he tells me he loves me. That I’ve always been his daughter, and he’s so sorry he wasn’t a better father. Such rare, coveted words, spoken with the rawness of truth. Hearing them shifts something into place, smoothing jagged edges inside me.

We plan on me visiting this summer.

Around six in the evening, Lillian returns from Adam’s to find me cooking dinner. Billie Holiday croons from the stereo in the living room. The lighting is soft and candles are lit.

As she walks into the kitchen, I turn with a smile. “Hungry?”

She returns my smile and nods, then glances around the tidy condo. “Did you take a Martha Stewart pill?”

I laugh. “Just keeping busy.”

She leans against the nearby counter. “You didn’t respond to any of my texts today.”

“Sorry,” I say breezily. “My phone’s off.”

Her eyes narrow. I immediately realize my mistake—my phone is never off. “What’s going on, Thebes?”

I taste the marinara and add another touch of salt. “Before I say anything, I want you to know I’m okay. Better than okay, actually.”

Eyes wide, she hisses, “Holy shit, are you pregnant?”

I choke on a sip of wine. “God, no.” I take a deep breath. “Actually, Alex and I ended things last night.”

She stares at me unblinking, frozen in incertitude. My peaceful tone is clearly baffling. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks hesitantly.

I shrug. “Our expiration date came up unexpectedly. He confirmed that he can’t stay in San Diego, and I can’t move to Boston.”

Her cheeks flush. “He said that, that you can’t—that he can’t?”

“Yes, those were his exact words.”

Angry breath flutters her bangs. “Unreal. What did you say?”

“I told him I loved him, and couldn’t wait to never see him again. He didn’t return either sentiment.” I chuckle humorlessly. “It was a really long drive home.”

Her eyes glisten. “Oh, Thebes,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

I open my arms and she lurches forward, hugging me tightly. “Like I said, I’m okay. Really. The last month has been insane. But you were right—I’ve changed for the better. Trial by fire, I guess. Alex, Margaret…” Saying her name brings a flash of recall. “Oh, by the way, I might not be getting the money after all.”

She jerks back. “What?”

“Mr. Delaney called Friday. I totally forgot to tell you, sorry. Margaret’s family is contesting the will.”

She gasps. “What the hell? Can they do that?”

“Apparently so. Remember those people in the pew with us at the funeral?”

“The assholes that wouldn’t even look at you?”

I nod. “Margaret’s niece and two nephews. They want to take us to court.”

Lillian explodes, “For the love of God! Like they don’t already have a fuckload of money? What’s the matter with people? Did you tell Al—” she blanches. “Shit, sorry.”

The pinch of pain is deep but manageable. “It’s okay. No, I forgot to mention it to him, too.” I turn to the stove to stir the sauce. “Anyway, Mr. Delaney still thinks we have a solid case. Once a DNA test proves I’m Robert White’s biological child, and that Margaret knew and changed her will over ten years ago, he believes no judge will deny me right to inherit.”

“And there’s the letter, too,” she adds softly. “Margaret blatantly said she thought of you as her daughter.”

I try, and fail utterly, to resist the memory of the night I found the letter. Alex holding me as he read it. The little frown on his brow, the measured rise and fall of his chest. His heartbeat under my ear—

The wooden spoon clatters to the counter. I blink hard, whispering, “Fuck.”

Lillian makes a small, pained noise and begins rubbing circles on my back. “Money or no money, after this stupid restaurant opens, we’re going on vacation. The Maldives. Or the South of France. Consider it a birthday present.”

I shudder, holding the edges of myself closed with a monumental effort. I count to ten, then to twenty, and take slow, measured breaths. At last, the storm turns aside, leaving me weak but unscathed.

“That sounds great, Lil. Really great.”