A loud giggle sounded from the living room.
“Sounds like someone’s having a good time,” Margo said.
“Serena has her boyfriend over, which is why I’m hiding in my bedroom.”
“And how are classes?”
“Fine, Mom.” I smiled when she scoffed. “Really, I’m oddly caught up, and it’s Friday night. I have the entire weekend to binge TV or—”
“Write Nate,” Margo suggested in a singsong voice.
“You’re starting to sound like Serena.”
“Serena adores Nate. I’m . . .” She went quiet.
I tossed my empty laundry basket on the floor of my abysmally small closet. “Just say it.”
“I’m withholding judgment until it’s a little clearer if you guys are some destined fairy tale or if it’s the initial trauma of the crash that bonded you.”
“And how are your classes, psych major?” I asked, not that I hadn’t wondered the same thing once or twice. But the way I missed him all these months later had to mean something more. Between our letters and the short bursts of time we’d had, I almost knew Nate better than I had dickface Jeremy. Letters didn’t leave a lot of space for bullshitting the way empty movie dates did.
“I’m barely passing one of my classes,” Margo admitted.
“Like actually barely passing?” I asked, pausing. “Or in danger of getting a C?”
“They’re basically the same thing.”
I grinned. “No, they’re not. But seriously, is there anything I can do?”
“Besides moving back to the tundra of upstate New York and personally taking me to coffee every afternoon so I can see your pretty face?”
“Right. Besides that.” The doorbell rang, but I flopped onto my bed, knowing Serena would get it.
“Nope. Just listen to me whine on our calls.”
“Always happy to do so.”
“Izzy!” Serena called out.
“I have to let you go; I think our dinner just got here.” We said our goodbyes, and I ended the call.
“Izzy!” Serena shouted again.
“Coming!” I hoisted my soft flannel pajama pants up higher on my hips and zipped up my Georgetown hoodie over my braless boobs so I wouldn’t freak out Serena’s company in the two seconds it would take to snag my dinner and fade back into the cave of my room.
I opened my bedroom door to find Serena grinning at me with an eerie resemblance to the Cheshire cat. “Yes?”
“I’m getting out of here for the weekend. Luke’s roommate is out of town, so we’ll have his place to ourselves. He’s throwing some stuff in a bag for me right now.” She looked so happy that I couldn’t bear to remind her that tomorrow was my birthday.
“That sounds amazing! Have a great time!” I forced a smile and prayed she didn’t see through it.
She squeezed me tight. “You’re going to have the best birthday. Promise me you’ll actually leave the apartment.”
“Will do.” That was a blatant fib. I’d leave the apartment long enough to fetch coffee down the block, but that was it. I was already planning out a full binge-fest on the couch.
She pulled back and studied my face like she could detect lies. “Okay. Dinner is on the kitchen counter. I love you, Iz.”
“Love you.”
She squeezed my hand and then raced out, grabbing her boyfriend’s hand and shutting the front door before I even made it to the living room.
“Weird, but okay,” I muttered, turning toward the kitchen and the scent of freshly delivered Chinese food.
I jumped at the sight of the handsome man leaning casually against the counter, like he was supposed to be here and not half a world away. He was dressed in jeans and a coat he hadn’t even unzipped yet, and a travel-worn camouflage backpack rested on the floor next to his feet. Despite the exhaustion in his blue eyes, he looked so damned beautiful that I could barely breathe.
“Nate?” He was here. In the States. In my kitchen.
“Hey.” He smiled, flashing that dimple.
My heart took off like a racehorse, and so did I. It took less than a second for me to dart over the couch. Who cared if pillows went flying? I wasn’t wasting time by going around. He caught me in his arms before I could land on the other side.
“You’re here,” I mumbled against the warm skin of his neck, my feet dangling as he hugged me tight.
“Happy birthday, Isabeau,” he said.
Best present ever.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
IZZY
Kabul, Afghanistan
August 2021
I leaned back against my closed door, my heart pounding for all the wrong reasons as I watched Jeremy survey the suite, taking in the seating arrangement and little kitchenette. Guess the conversation I’d avoided for the last six weeks was going to happen whether I was ready or not.
Anger rose swiftly, heating my skin. How dare he show up like this?
You could always tell Nate to throw his ass on the curb.
Except I doubted Nate was going to be speaking to me after that exchange in the hallway. No doubt he was already calling his replacement.
“You’re marrying Dickface.” God, the look on his face had been worse than betrayal. Nate had been . . . disappointed. Seeing that he knew my history with Jeremy, I couldn’t blame him.
I was disappointed in myself for how long I’d let this go on. The weight of the ring on my finger felt like an anchor, tying me to the one person I was starting to realize had never deserved me.
“Your room is nicer than the one they gave me,” Jeremy said, taking off his navy-blue suit jacket to reveal an immaculately pressed shirt. He was dressed to enter the Senate chamber, not Afghanistan. After draping the jacket across the back of the desk chair, he turned toward me, his brown eyes sweeping over me with the same assessment he gave the suite. The little crease in his forehead told me he found me as lacking as he did his own accommodations.
For the first time since we’d started dating back at Syracuse, I didn’t give a shit what he thought about me, my travel-worn slacks, or my dusty blouse. I didn’t need to impress him anymore.
The thought made me stand a little taller.
“What are you doing here?” I pulled my scarf off, dropped it into my bag, and crossed my arms over my chest. After failing to get Serena on the helicopter, this was the last thing I wanted to deal with.
There were no words for whatever the hell was going on, or how I felt about it. Every failure in my life was rearing its head today. I was a tangle of crossed electrical wires in danger of going up with the slightest provocation.
“Never one to beat around the bush, are you, Isa?” He walked forward, offering me one of his five practiced smiles. This one was number four, his contrite-but-boys-will-be-boys version.
Isa. Because my father had been the one to introduce us.
I held up my hand, and he stopped midway across the room, arching a groomed eyebrow. “Let me guess, you borrowed Daddy’s private jet?” I cocked my head to the side. “Or is this a campaign stop?”