They stared at each other in mute silence for an uncomfortably long time, until he finally cleared his throat. “You can say something now.”
There was a little whisper of a smile around her lips, although not a happy one. “Okay.” She sucked in a long breath. “Okay, I’ll just ask. Have you been messing with my emotions the past several months because you want me? Or because you don’t want Tom to have me?”
He cleared his throat and glanced at his coffee. “I want you to be happy.”
“That’s not an answer, Vin. No more evasions. Do you have feelings for me—beyond partner, beyond friend? Yes or no.”
Vincent felt both incredibly hot and unbearably cold at the same time. As though his body was physically incapable of telling the lie he needed to tell.
But her answer left him no wiggle room—no space for half truths.
He lifted his head and told the biggest lie of his life.
“No.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
There wasn’t enough ice cream in the world.
Not enough wine.
Not enough terrible, mindless television.
Jill had tried it all, but nothing helped.
She hurt.
That one word from Vincent—that succinct, no bullshit no—had hurt a million times worse than walking away from Tom.
Which told Jill more about her own heart than she could bring herself to admit.
It will get better, she told herself for the millionth time as she stared blindly into the fridge. It’s only been three days. The sting will fade, and it will be like all of this never happened.
Her phone buzzed, and Jill closed the fridge. Nothing in there but pudding and a fast-wilting bag of mixed greens for that salad that she kept meaning to eat but never wanted.
The text was from Elena. Missed you at brunch. Want to grab a movie?
Jill grunted. Sunday brunch with the Morettis. Damn right she’d skipped it. Sitting across from Vincent while he shoveled in biscuits and sausage, completely oblivious to her pain?
Pass.
Not in a movie mood, she texted Elena back. Sorry to miss everyone at brunch!
Texting was amazing. Lies were so easily disguised with an exclamation point.
Everything okay?
Or not.
Yeah, why?
Elena texted back. You’re being weird. Vin’s being weird. You guys get in a fight?
Jill swallowed. You’d have to care about the other person enough to fight. Something Vin wouldn’t know shit about.
Just tension on the case—still no break, Jill replied.
Hmm. K. We could go wedding dress shopping? A girl from work told me about a brand-new boutique. Up and coming designers, unique, not crazy expensive.
“God.” Jill dropped the phone beside her on the couch, leaning back and digging the heels of her hands into her eyes.
She needed to tell Elena about the wedding. Needed to tell everyone about the wedding.
Correction: the lack of wedding.
She glanced down at the ring on her finger that seemed to get heavier every day. Last night she’d dreamed that the band had grown smaller and smaller until it had cut off all circulation and she’d had to have her finger amputated—by a clown.
Jill hated clowns (who didn’t, really?).
It was so time to get rid of this ring.
But first—the announcement.
Jill stared for a long time at her phone, then picked it up. No time like the present.
And who better to start with than one’s mother?
Especially since her mom, while certainly excited on Jill’s behalf, had been only marginally interested in the wedding planning. Jill’s parents had been married on a beach in Malibu with only their best friends present, and she must have asked Jill a million times if she was “sure she wanted all the fuss.”
Oh, to have listened to her mother.
A knock at the door interrupted Jill’s resolve to spice up everybody’s Sunday with a bomb of an announcement.
She rolled off the couch.
It was probably Elena. Jill knew it was only a matter of time before her best friend realized something major was going on and demanded that Jill spill all of the gory details.
At least it had better be Elena.
The alternative was Vin, and she was so not ready to see him. She’d had a hard enough time faking that everything was fine at work. Without the protective barrier of homicide discussions… she couldn’t. Just couldn’t.
It wasn’t Elena.
Nor was it Vincent.
“Maria!”
Reflectively, Jill ran a hand over her pajamas, wishing that she’d have put on real clothes. Or, you know… showered.
Vincent’s mother smiled kindly, looking as put together as ever in her usual Sunday attire. A green dress today that perfectly suited her complexion, making her look forty-something instead of the sixty-something Jill knew she was.
“May I come in?”
“Of course!”
Jill followed Maria into the kitchen, doing a quick scan to make sure it didn’t scream single-woman. Other than the open bag of potato chips on the coffee table, it could be worse.
“May I get you coffee? Tea?”
Maria smiled. “You have tea?”
“Ah—” Jill mentally scanned her cupboard inventory. “Yeah, that’s a no.”