“No,” she says quickly. “Well…honestly, yes. I mean, we’re separated. God, we’ve been separated for almost three years.”
“Are you thinking of going back to him? Is that still on the table?” I ask, heart in my throat. No matter how much I may like Tess, I’m not a homewrecker. If her answer is yes, I’ll walk away and not look back. But I’m relieved when she says no.
“I am never going back to Troy,” she adds vehemently.
“So then…what’s the hold up? Just tell me the truth, Tess. Whatever it is, I can take it.”
“The truth?”
I nod, gazing down at her, waiting.
We’ve stopped dancing. I’ve stopped breathing. The party swirls around us, but I don’t register any of it. There’s only her in my arms. There’s only us.
“The truth,” she says again, her lips barely moving.
“Say it.”
Holding my gaze, her lips part. I watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest. I know if I lean close enough, I’ll feel her warm breath ghost across my lips.
“The truth is that a sweet guy like you is likely looking to settle down,” she says at last. “You may not believe in love at first sight, but you believe in love. You believe your Future Mrs. Hockey Boy is right around the next corner. And you believe good things come to good people, and that if you want something bad enough, you can have it. No obstacle is too high. You’re all bright and shiny, Ryan, ready for your life to start.”
My breath is trapped in my chest as I take in her words.
She holds my gaze. “You look at me and you see wife potential, don’t you? Another prize for your shelf. A game to be won. But I’ve been someone’s wife, Ryan,” she goes on, her gaze hardening as she drops her hands away from me. “And I will never be a man’s trophy again. We can laugh and dance and tease each other all night long. But when that sun rises, you’ll see the truth. You’ll see me for all that I am. And what I am is a waste of your time.”
With that, she turns on her heel and hurries away, leaving me standing there with empty hands.
7
Heart in my throat, I leave the dance floor, trying to put as much distance between Ryan and me as possible. Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past him to follow after me. But I don’t look back. Somehow, I fear it might hurt more to see he’s not following me.
Tears sting my eyes, blurring my vision, as I duck out of the first open door I see. The moment the cool L.A. air hits my lungs, I suck in a ragged breath. “Fuck,” I whimper, hating how easy it is for Ryan to turn me into such a mess.
I’m just tired. That’s what this is. And I’m probably a little drunk. Nothing some sleep and a few Advil can’t fix by morning.
It’s quieter out here, the sound of the music dampened by the wall of thick glass. Soft golden light stretches out across Hal Price’s manicured lawn. To my left is the open space that leads out to the stage area. To the right is the pool.
I move right, angling for the lounge furniture. I’ll just take a minute to sit and breathe. And I’m taking these damn shoes off. Heck, at this point, I feel like throwing them in the pool.
Maybe I’ll throw myself in too.
Sink to the bottom.
Count to one thousand.
My pity party is interrupted by the sound of a deep voice. I turn the corner to see another secluded seating area. Soft patio lights hang on the underside of an arbor, casting a twinkling, golden glow. Ilmari paces in his shirtsleeves, phone to his ear. He’s speaking low in Finnish.
I studied Latin and Greek in school, and I know just enough Italian to get myself into fun trouble on vacation. My ear desperately tries to pick out even a single word of his language, but Finnish is completely incomprehensible to me.
He turns in his pacing and stills, his eyes narrowing on me.
I give him a little awkward wave.
He surprises me by pointing to one of the empty chairs, inviting me to stay. Then he’s turning away, humming something into the phone. He lets out a soft laugh, pacing to the other end of the oversized sectional.
I drop into the closest chair with a sigh. Sticking my leg out the slit of my dress, my tired fingers fumble for the strap of my shoe. I wanna cry when I finally get them both off, kicking them to the side.
Ilmari finishes his phone call and turns to face me. “Sorry about that,” he says.
“Not at all. I interrupted you,” I reply. “It’s a bit late for a phone call, isn’t it?”
“Not in Finland. It’s nearly one in the afternoon in Helsinki.”
“Right. Was that your agent?”
“My adoptive father. I wanted them to hear from me the news of the wedding before word reached them via the press.”
“And…is he happy for you? Is he sad to have missed the wedding?”
“My aunt is devastated,” he replies, taking a seat on the couch opposite me. “She made me promise to bring them all to Finland this summer.”
We sit in silence for a moment, the pulse of the music thrumming against the wall. I get the feeling something’s bothering him. We’ll call it the particular angle of his scowl.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
He clears his throat and shifts.
“Mars—”
“I fear I may have made a decision in haste,” he admits. “I am regretting it now immensely.”
My stomach drops out. “Ohmygod. Mars, are you having second thoughts? ‘Cause if you walk out on Rachel after three hours of marriage—”
“What? I’m not talking about Rachel—”
I gasp, my hand covering my mouth. “Then is it the guys? If you think you’ll pry her away from them—”
“No,” he says more forcefully. “Will you stop guessing and let me speak?”
“You just said you made a decision in haste,” I counter. “Married after only four months to your doctor and two of your teammates feels pretty hasty to me, Mars.”
“There was nothing hasty in my decision to make them mine. If you would stop talking, and let me speak, I will explain myself. Christ, you’re worse than Jake.”
“Rude.”
“Prove me wrong,” he counters with a glare.
I lean back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Will you just tell me already? Before I freak out or get tired of waiting and jump to the bottom of the pool—”
“I’m afraid I made a bad investment,” he says over me.
Well, that takes the wind right from my sails.
“A bad investment?” I echo. “This is about money?”
He nods.
“Well…how bad of an investment? How big was your risk?”
“Not that kind of investment,” he replies. “A few months ago, I invested in a nonprofit,” he explains. “Rachel warned me not to, but I was feeling…generous.”
I get the feeling the word ‘generous’ is not what he intended, but I say nothing. “How generous were you?” I ask instead.
“Five hundred thousand dollars.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “What kind of nonprofit?”
“They do sea turtle nest monitoring,” he replies.
I sit back and blink, confused. “You donated half a million dollars to a group that monitors sea turtles?”
He nods.
“Well…why?”
“It’s complicated,” he replies.
“Try me.”
He just shrugs. “Call it guilt.”
“Guilt? You donated half a million dollars to a sea turtle nonprofit out of guilt? What, did you murder a family of sea turtles? Did you mow them down in a yacht or something?”
“No,” he replies with a frown.
“Well, then I don’t get it. Why would you give so much money away?”
“Consider it my vain attempt to rebalance the cosmic scales,” he replies.
“What?”
“I live wholly unsustainably,” he explains. “Private jets, private busses, hotels, single-use containers for every meal—to say absolutely nothing about the scourge of stadiums on the environment. I just felt like I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do something…anything.”
“Holy fuck,” I say on a sigh. “You’re telling me you look and sound like that, you play hockey the way you do. I’m sure you fuck like a god,” I add. “Our Rachel doesn’t settle for anything less than the best. And you’re environmentally conscious?”