Present Day

It takes ten minutes to get myself under control. Panicking was a dumb move, and one I hope I don’t end up regretting.

I should not have walked away from her.

I should have discovered whether her knowledge was just of Eden and the general events of my life or whether she knew deeper things, the things only a handful of people could have told her.

I should have pushed her more, found the hole in her story and smashed it open. I should have seen this coming.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been blindsided.

Ryan is scanning the crowd for a sign of me when I leave the bathroom. He’s still in the same place I left him, probably thinking that it would make it easier for me to find him if he stayed put.

But James and the woman with him are long gone.

Ryan pulls me close the second I reach him, his arm sliding around my waist. “Are you okay?” he asks. “You look pale.”

The woman’s appearance here is concerning, but I don’t know exactly how just yet. It’s easy to jump to conclusions and assume this has something to do with my last job, but it’s a mistake not to consider any and all other options as well. I’ve made a lot of enemies over the last ten years, but people you trust can turn on you just as easily.

I remind myself—I only deal in facts.

Nodding, I clear my throat. “Yes, all good. That drink went straight to my head.”

He seems relieved that my predicament has an easy remedy and pulls me to the buffet table and loads a plate of food for me. Ryan finds two open spots at a white-linen-covered table and sets the plate between us. “If you don’t feel better after eating some of this, we can leave.”

But there’s no way I’m leaving until I have another crack at that woman. I pick through the offerings on the plate, nibbling on a finger sandwich while Ryan signals to a passing waiter for a bottle of water.

Deep breaths. I need to get back on my game.

“It looks like it’s been a long time since you’ve seen your friend James,” I say.

“Yeah, God, probably two years. We were close as kids. He didn’t move back after college.” He frowns. “Things have been tough for him. Said he’s in town because his dad fell and broke his leg. Sounds like he’ll be here for a while, helping his mom take care of him.”

“Maybe we can have them over for dinner while he’s here. Give you two a chance to catch up.” He shrugs. “Yeah, maybe.”

I want to ask about the girl. What he knows about her. If he knows anything about her. If there was anything he learned after I ran off to the bathroom. But that’s so unlike me. This me I’ve created doesn’t pry. Doesn’t ask unnecessary questions. Doesn’t push for information about his friends or their companions. I need the moments that include James and his date to be buried in the blur of the day and not become the chunk of time that separates itself and becomes its own memory.

Because that’s all it would take. It’s been said that if you want a slice of time to stick out, to be crystal clear in your mind, one small difference in an otherwise normal routine is all it takes. Like if you’re the type who has trouble remembering whether you locked your front door before leaving for vacation, you should separate it from all the other perfunctory times you’ve locked your front door. Something as simple as turning around in a circle just before you slip the key in the lock would do it. A simple movement and forever that memory will be burned into your mind. It becomes clear enough to play over and over again. You see the door, the key turning, the doorknob wobbling when you tested the lock, and there’s no guessing whether or not you did it because you know you did.

I don’t need Ryan analyzing this moment later, wondering why I had such an interest in his old friend and the woman from North Carolina. Why I actively wanted to hunt them down so that we could spend more time with them. I don’t need these questions to be the turn before locking the door.

There are a lot of people here, but not so many that we shouldn’t bump into them again before it’s over. For now, I’ll bide my time and run through every scenario that might make this make sense.

“That hat looks fabulous on you!” Sara squeals as she approaches the table.

I tilt my head from side to side, the hat bobbling along with me. “Yours too!” I say back enthusiastically.

The rest of Ryan’s friend group arrive shortly after her, and from the glassy looks to the pink cheeks, I’d say drinks before was a success.

Ryan stands up from the table, greeting his closest friends with a handshake and a firm grip on the shoulder. If they have any issues with us bailing on the pre-party, they don’t show it. The guys form a tight circle a few feet away while Sara drops down in Ryan’s vacated chair. Beth and Allison pull up ones from a nearby table, but Rachel remains standing a few feet away.

Allison scoots to the edge of her chair then beckons Rachel over. “Here, put a cheek down and we’ll share this one.”

Maybe Rachel was hesitant because there wasn’t an open chair, but I think she was torn because she’d rather hang with the boys.

Once everyone is settled, Beth leans in and says, “I would be so pissed if I showed up wearing the same hat as three other women here.” She must be talking about the one with the peacock feathers shooting out of the top and falling like a curtain down the back until they almost touch the ground. I’ve seen three of those already.

Sara takes a sip from her silver cup. “That’s why you have to shop at Martha’s. She keeps track of every hat sold and doesn’t duplicate. And never offers the same hats the next year in case someone decides to pull from the archives.” Then she nods toward Allison. “Or have the florist make you one.”

Allison’s hat is more like a blanket of red roses, fresh ones it seems, just like the blanket of roses that will cover the winning horse.

I can’t help the snort of laughter that slips past my lips. These hats are serious business. Judging by the roll of her eyes and the shake of her head, Rachel seems to be the only one who agrees this party is ridiculous.

They continue to break down everyone here, and I realize I can use this to my advantage. If James Bernard was an old friend of Ryan’s, then he was an old friend of theirs too.

I just need an opening.

“Oh!” Allison squeaks. “Can you believe Jeana Kilburn had the nerve to show her face here?” “Where is she?” Beth asks.

Allison points to a short, round, blond woman nearby who is wearing way too much jewelry. She’s hammered. I noticed her earlier when she was walking from the buffet line to a table and almost wobbled right off those high heels of hers.

“I swear, I’ll never understand men,” Sara says. “If they’re going to cheat, why do it with someone as tragic as Jeana?”

Once they’ve just finished speculating who Jeana’s next victim will be, I say, “Ryan ran into an old friend he hasn’t seen in years . . . James Bernard. He seemed excited to see him.”

All four women whip their heads in my direction.

“He’s here?” Beth asks, her mouth hanging slightly open as if she’s in awe of my news.

I nod and survey the rest of them and find they all are exhibiting varying degrees of shock and confusion. Except Rachel. This is not news to Rachel.

“He’s here with a woman.” I don’t say her name. I can’t bring myself to say her name. My name.

Allison, Beth, and Sara all turn around and scan the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of them, but Rachel looks at me.

Beth swings back around and says, “I can’t believe he’d show up here. He must need money.”

I take a slow drink from my cup like I’ve got all the time in the world before lowering it, then ask, “Why do you say that?” My calm and controlled outer shell that is usually locked down tight quivers and threatens to crumble in a million pieces.

“He’s trouble,” Allison adds. “Nearly bankrupted his parents with his gambling. They bailed him out more times than they should have. No one knows where he’s even been the last few years.”

“How did he look? Bad?” Beth asks. “I bet he looked bad. And honestly I’m shocked he found a date.

She must be a train wreck too.”

I don’t mention that his date was far from a train wreck. “I’m surprised he had the nerve to talk to Ryan,” Sara says. As casually as I can, I ask, “Why?”

Allison answers for her instead. “Ryan tried to help him out a year ago. Gave him a job, set him up with a place to live, everything. James screwed him over so bad. Stole some money from him or something. Ryan was super pissed.”

“Yeah, but we all know if anyone is going to forgive him, it’s Ryan. Wonder who the girl is?” Sara rattles the ice around in her empty cup. A few more of those and Ray will be carrying her out of here.

I’m even more worried now. James’s return isn’t welcome, and his appearance here, with her, concerns me. I need to consider the possibility that the woman with my name and my background is using James to get close to me.

Rachel is quiet. Enough so that I’m sure she could answer every question they have.

One for the Honey, the longshot, won the race more than an hour ago and Ryan has been on cloud nine since he won a nice chunk of change on him.

We’ve circled the crowd several times, but we haven’t run across James and the woman again. And from the girls’ talk, they haven’t seen him either. My mentioning him and his companion whetted their appetite and they were greedy for a look at them both.

Ryan leans in close and whispers in my ear, “You know, the best way to spend these winnings would be to head straight for the airport and not stop until we’re on a beach in Mexico somewhere.”

I turn to face him, wrapping Ryan’s tie around my right hand and pulling him close. “I like the sound of that.” The words come out in a purr as I step closer so we’re touching from top to bottom. Evie Porter has a lot of things, but a passport isn’t one of them. Ryan has refilled his silver monogrammed cup several times, and I don’t think there is any danger these plans would become a reality—plus, he would never leave without making arrangements at work first. It’s fun to play along, though. More importantly, a girlfriend like me wouldn’t hesitate to escape to the beach.

“I’ve been dreaming about you in that pink bikini you unpacked last week.” His head dips until his lips are pressed against the side of my neck. We’re very close to causing a scene, because this is not the type of party where PDA goes unnoticed.

This is the first time I’ve seen him drink this much. He’s a happy drunk. Handsy. His feelings for me stretch across his beautiful face like an open book, and everyone here gets a peek. “We don’t have to be on the beach for me to show you that pink bikini.” A quick glance around our immediate area tells me we’re already the subject of several whispered conversations. We linger like this a few more minutes, because my goal today was to solidify myself as Ryan’s girlfriend, and all anyone will talk about was how he was all over me.

But now that it seems like James and the woman are gone, I’m ready to leave too. The sooner I can get out of here, the sooner I can figure out what is going on.

“You get the valet to pull your car around and I’ll drive us home,” I say, loosening my grip on his tie and stepping back from him.

Ryan leans in for a kiss and I don’t resist him. It’s slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that makes you want more.

And wanting more is dangerous.

I give myself thirty seconds to live in the world where this is real. Where my boyfriend is declaring his affection for me in front of all these people and there’s nothing to stop this relationship from continuing indefinitely. Where there is no question about who I really am or what my motives are.

But too soon, time is up. “Everyone is staring at us,” I whisper against his lips.

Ryan keeps his eyes on me. “Good.” Then he pulls me toward the valet stand while digging in his pocket with his free hand for some tip money and the ticket to claim his car. His friends are scattered around the party, and neither of us make any effort to say good-bye.

I throw my heels and hat in the back seat as soon as I’m behind the wheel, then scoot the seat up. Ryan reclines his seat back, just enough that he’s still upright but barely. His eyes close as he begins to hum along with the song playing on the radio.

I like seeing him like this. On a normal day, he can be wound up pretty tight and a bit grumpy if there’s a problem at work, but now, he’s relaxed. Loose. There’s that part of me I hate, when my next thoughts wander to what I can find out from him while his guard is down. How many secrets can I pry out of those loose lips?

His hand reaches across the space separating us, his fingers tangling with mine.

“Lucca,” he says, and that single word punctures my lungs, making it hard to drag in a breath. My hand on the steering wheel grips tight, and it’s the only thing that stops this car from flying off the road and landing in the ditch.

Before my brain can come up with any words, he says, “That girl with James.” His eyes are still closed so he doesn’t witness my silent hysteria. “She said something weird after you went to the bathroom.”

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Deep breath in through my nose. Slow and steady out of my mouth. Two more times. “What did she say?” I ask in what I hope is a bored voice.

“Just before they walked away, she said James was hoping to reconnect with me but said it so he wouldn’t hear her. Said she’d love to get to know you too.”

That bitch.

“Huh,” I say. “Why is that weird?”

“The last time I saw him, things were . . . strained. I’ve learned to be cautious where James is concerned,” he says with a grumble. “She seems nice enough, though. Too good for him.”

I’m fuming. Still open to all options as to why she’s here, but there’s no way this is some sort of crazy coincidence.

Ryan turns on his side, his cheek resting on the seat, his eyes on me. “I’m not bailing him out again.

Nope. I’m done. He’s her problem now.”

I drag our joined hands into my lap, squeezing gently. He smiles a loopy smile and I’m hoping this entire conversation is fuzzy tomorrow. “Hmm . . . you like that bikini, huh?” I untangle my fingers from his but keep his hand on my thigh.

He perks up, his eyes sweeping from my face down my body. I slide his hand under the hem of my dress, dragging his fingers against the lace top of my thigh highs. His eyes get big, surprised to find what I’m hiding underneath, but he wastes no time latching on to the straps holding them up.

Not many women wear stockings anymore, and I agree they were invented by the devil, but I’ve yet to find a man who could resist the garters, and you never know when you’ll need a guaranteed distraction.

And what I need more than anything right now is to ensure that when Ryan thinks back to this car ride home, the memory that crystallizes clearer than all the others will not include Lucca Marino.