When she saw I was waiting for her to elaborate, she moved her hand from her necklace to play with her earring. “Well, I suppose I’m scared of what’s next. You have to understand, I spent the last thirtysomething years in a form of isolation. A prison. He managed to mess with everything in my life—even my medication. A few years ago, I found out he was in close contact with my psychiatrist and told him what to prescribe me. I cut the psychiatrist off immediately, but the damage had been done, and these days, I can’t even take a Xanax without wondering if the people who prescribed it to me have ulterior motives. Whenever we went to social events, he would get deliberately chummy with my female friends—normally the ones whose company I enjoyed the most—and disappear with them for long periods of time. Making me wonder if he slept with them. He conducted very short, very efficient, very strategic affairs with anyone he thought could help me break free from the golden cage he’d set for me. I don’t have any real friends, associates, lawyers, or family. Conrad is my only family, albeit a very bad one.”
“You have me,” I ground out, not exactly sure why these words were leaving my mouth.
My mother’s eyes lit up. “I do?”
“Yeah. We’re not close, but I’ll still be there for you when you need me.” Although I could see why she didn’t know that, seeing as I had been ghosting her for a couple of weeks. Since news had broken about Conrad and she’d started calling me.
“Life is so short.” She shook her head. “I think about all the kisses I didn’t give you. All the hugs we didn’t share. All the movie nights and shopping sprees and fights that made us want to throttle each other and yet love each other more. I think about all the what-ifs. The almosts. How they pile up in the empty room of my memory bank. And it kills me, Arya. It hurts so much more than what’s happening with your dad.”
My pulse thrummed against my inner wrists. I thought about all the moments I’d shared with Dad. Precious and small, like individually wrapped chocolates. I wouldn’t exchange them for the world, even after everything that had happened. And maybe especially because of it.
And Christian. I thought about Christian too.
How much I wanted him. Craved him. Every fiber in my body knew he was going to break my heart. No easy feat, considering no man had accomplished that since Nicholai Ivanov.
“We can create new memories, maybe.” A soft smile touched my lips.
“Oh.” Her voice shook. “I would like that so very much.”
I stumbled out of the coffee shop, fumbling for my phone. It took me a second to find his number and another two to pull myself together and call him. He answered on the first ring, his voice clipped. “Yes?”
The background noise was telling. Documents shifting; hushed voices discussing the EEOC, mischaracterization, and burden of proof. He was obviously at a meeting. Why had he picked up the phone?
“Christian?” I asked.
“Evidently.”
“It’s Arya.”
“Is there anything I can help you with, Arya?” He didn’t sound as enthusiastic as I’d thought he’d be.
Had I expected him to fall to his knees and beg to see me? Maybe not, but I hadn’t thought he’d sound so . . . unsurprised.
“You sound busy.”
There was a lull. Maybe it finally clicked that I’d called.
“What’s it about, Ari?”
Ari. The nickname made my heart stutter.
“Never mind.”
“I do mind.”
“You’re obviously doing something important.”
“I’d rather do someone important,” he stressed, just as I heard the soft click of a door closing. At least he hadn’t said that in public. I wheezed. There was not enough fresh air in Manhattan to make me breathe properly. But Mom had said it perfectly—life was too short. If tomorrow never came, I wanted to spend today with him.
“Arya.” Christian’s voice was much warmer now. I realized he’d sounded terse before because he’d been among people and had a certain air to uphold. “Are you contemplating what I think you’re contemplating?”
That was the trouble with good lawyers. They sniffed the truth out of you from miles away.
“Maybe.”
“What’s changed?”
“My perspective.” I closed my eyes, swaying from heel to heel in the middle of the street, feeling completely ridiculous. “My entire life, I’ve avoided messy. Yet messy still found me. I’m starting to see that maybe it’s time I take what I want, seeing as some consequences are inevitable.”
“I’m coming over.”
“You mean right now?” This gave me pause. Things were moving too fast. “It’s midday. My schedule is jam-packed. I’m sure yours is too.”
“I’ll shift things around.” The line got cut. “. . . on my way.” Another cut. “. . . over. Hello? Can you hear me?”
“You’re losing service,” I mumbled, wandering toward the subway in a stupor. Was I really skipping work? That was a first. I hadn’t even skipped a class in high school. The last time I’d taken a sick day was six years ago. I didn’t do spontaneous.
The bustling life of Manhattan seeped through the line. Ambulances wailing, cars honking, people shouting. “Sorry. I was in the elevator. Just hailed a cab. I’m on my way.”
“You’re crazy. This could wait.”
“No, it can’t. Oh, and Ari?”
“Yes?”
“Your checkbook better be open, because all those meals you’ve stood me up on weren’t cheap.”
When I arrived at my doorstep, Christian was already there, pacing back and forth by the front stairs. The air around him crackled with dark energy.
He turned to face me, surprising me by grabbing my hand and pressing it against his heart. “Feel it, Ari.”
The look on his face said more than words ever could. There was expectation there, mixed with hope, longing, and something else. An odd fragility that hadn’t been there before. It reminded me of that time, decades ago, when Nicky and I had almost gotten caught by Ruslana.
I sank my blood-red fingernails into the fabric of his shirt. “Happy to see me?”
“I’ll be happier when I see all of you.”
We took the three flights of stairs two at a time. My adrenaline was through the roof. When I opened my door, I told him I was getting a glass of water and asked if he wanted one.
“Sure?” He gave me a funny, is-this-how-we’re-going-to-play-this look. I pointed toward my room and told him to make himself comfortable. When I was certain he was gone, I chugged two pints of water, then stuck my head in the freezer to try and bring my temperature down.
When I went to my room, I caught him studying my bookshelf, his back turned to me. I’d hired a carpenter years before to convert one of my bedroom walls into a library. It was extravagant and entirely unjustified, what with this apartment being a rental and all, but it made me feel more at home than any other piece of furniture I owned. Christian ran a finger along the spines of the books in a manner I found strangely erotic.