Things are going to be okay, I tell myself. Five years is nothing. I’d wait twice that to have Reed back. We’ll be able to write letters to each other, maybe even talk on the phone. I’ll visit him as much as he lets me. And I do believe he can control his temper, if he wants. He has a huge incentive—good behavior equals less jail time.
There’s a silver lining in every cloud, Mom always said. Granted, she said that mostly when we were leaving to go to some new place, but I believed it then. Even when she died, I felt like I’d survive. And I did.
Reed’s not dying, even though it feels like I’m losing someone yet again. He’s just…going on an extended vacation. It’d be like if he went to college in California and I was here. We’d have a long-distance relationship. Phone calls, texts, emails, letters. It’s pretty much the same thing, right?
Feeling marginally better, I get up and reach for the phone. Except I forget I didn’t put my suitcase away, and end up tripping over it. With a squeaky cry, I fall into the console table. The lamp on top of it teeters. I grab for it, but I’m too far away and the damn thing crashes to the ground.
“Everything okay in there?” Steve asks from the hall, sounding concerned.
“Yeah.” I look at the shattered remains of the lamp. “Well, no.” Sighing, I walk over to open the door. “I tripped over my suitcase and broke your lamp,” I confess.
“Don’t worry about it. We’re redecorating, remember?” He holds up a finger. “Don’t move. I’ll get a broom.”
“’Kay.”
I bend down and start chucking the big pieces in a nearby trashcan. Something white pokes out from underneath one shard. Confusion wrinkling my forehead, I ease the paper out. From the way it’s hastily folded and tucked against that one piece, I realize someone deliberately slid it inside the white porcelain base. Maybe it’s the instructions for the lamp? Yeah, probably.
My hand is halfway to the trash bin when the word Maria catches my eye.
Curious, I unfold the paper and start to read.
Then I gasp.
“What’ve you got there?”
My head swivels to the door, where Steve is standing with a broom in his hand. I want to lie and say “Nothing,” but I can’t get my vocal cords to cooperate. I can’t hide the paper, either, because every muscle in my body is frozen.
Looking concerned again, Steve leans the broom against the doorframe and marches over.
“Ella,” he orders. “Talk to me.”
I look at him with wide, frightened eyes. Then I hold up the paper and whisper, “What the hell is this?”
34
Ella
The paper crackles as I hold it between my trembling fingers. My mind is spinning with the few paragraphs I read—and I’m not even finished reading. Before I can blink, Steve snatches the letter from my hand. As he scans the first few lines, his face drains of all color. “Where did you get this?” he chokes out.
My mouth is so dry with shock and horror that it hurts to talk. “It was hidden in the lamp.” I continue to stare at him. “Why did you hide it? Why didn’t you destroy it?”
His skin is as pale as mine probably is. “I…I didn’t hide it. It was in the safe. It…” He curses suddenly. “That goddamned sneaky bitch.”
My hands won’t stop shaking. “Who?”
“My wife.” He swears again, bitterness darkening his eyes. “My lawyers would have given Dinah the codes to the safe after my death.” His fingers tighten, crumpling up the paper. “She must have seen this and—no, it would’ve had to be Brooke.” He looks around the room, visibly shaken up. “She stayed here. She was the one who hid it. She must’ve stolen it from Dinah.”
“I don’t care who hid the letter!” I shout. “All I care about is whether or not it’s true!” My breathing goes unsteady. “Is it true?”
“No.” He pauses. “Yes.”
Hysterical laughter spills out of my mouth. “Well, which is it? Yes or no?”
“Yes.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps. “It’s true.”
Disgust and anger shoot through me. Oh my God. I can’t even believe what I’m hearing. This letter changes everything I knew about Steve, Callum, the Royals. If it really is true, Dinah had every right to be furious with Maria. To hate her, even.
“Let me read the rest of it,” I order.
Steve takes a step back, but I grab the paper from his hand before he can move it out of my reach. The corner tears off and remains between Steve’s limp fingers.
“Ella,” he starts weakly.
But I’m too busy reading.
Dear Steve,
I can’t live with these lies any longer. They’re tearing me apart. Each look from Callum weighs on my heart. This isn’t the life I imagined for myself and not one that I can continue to pursue.
My sons are the light of my life, but even they don’t shine bright enough to erase the darkness in my soul. The stains of our actions will always be there. I don’t know what to do.
If I confess, our families will be torn apart. Callum will leave me; your friendship will be severed.
If I keep quiet, I will not live. I swear to you. I can’t go on.