“Were you with her this afternoon?”
I’m still trying to catch my breath, so I nod.
“You fuckhead.” He grabs me by the lapels and hoists me up so we’re eye to eye. “What were you thinking? Of all the women you could screw, why her? Why my fiancée’s best friend? Why Armstrong’s goddamn wife? Do you have any idea how bad this looks, especially with your history with Armstrong? Does she even know about that? I told you to keep an eye on her, I fucking told you to watch yourself, and did you listen? Of course not.”
He shoves me and I stumble back into the wall. It looks like he’s thinking about hitting me again. When we were kids we used to wrestle a lot. Until we were teenagers I always won. Then Bancroft hit a growth spurt and I started losing, every damn time. He cocks a fist, possibly to break my nose, so I blurt, “I’m in love with her.”
His frowns and hesitates.
“I love her,” I repeat.
“You better not be saying that just to avoid getting punched in the face.”
I shake my head and bend at the waist, bracing my hands on my knees. Bane has a mean right hook. “I mean it. I’m in love with her.”
He stares at me for a few very long seconds, then runs his hand through his hair. It’s not a great move, since it’s curly and has product in it keep it from getting out of control, which it now is. “You’re serious.” He’s definitely stunned.
“Yeah. It’s pretty bad. I’m kinda fucked right now.”
“When did this happen?”
“You mean the feelings part?”
“The whole thing.”
“You have to promise not to punch me again.”
Bane gives me a look. “Did this start in Bora Bora?”
At my nod Bane flexes his hands and releases a slow breath. “You’ve been hiding this the entire time?”
“No. Well, yes. It wasn’t supposed to be anything beyond just hooking up when we were there, because we knew it wasn’t a good idea, but then you got engaged and things just . . . happened. And then we kept it quiet because Armstrong wouldn’t sign the annulment papers.”
Bane rubs the back of his neck. “Couldn’t have picked a more complicated person to fall for?”
I shrug. “We both know I don’t like doing things the easy way.”
“Isn’t that the truth?”
“Armstrong has done a pretty good job of screwing things up for me, as he does.”
Bane puts a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You’ve fixed worse.”
I don’t know if he’s right. I don’t know if there is worse than this.
* * *
Not long after Bane and I return to the hall we’re called on by Mimi, who thanks us for our help in organizing the party. Amie’s gracious and well spoken, turning her smile on me as she tells the attendees how she couldn’t have done it without my help. Her anger simmers just under the surface, though. I want an opportunity to make that emotion disappear. But I don’t get a chance to talk to her before she leaves the stage and moves through the crowd of guests. By the time I’m finished saying good night to everyone I can’t find her anywhere.
I sneak out of the ballroom and head for the elevators that will take me to the penthouse floor, pulling up her contact on the way. I’m unsurprised when it goes to voicemail. “Amie, baby, I know you probably have some questions. A lot of questions, and that’s understandable. I just want you to give me a chance to answer them, so please when you get this message call me back.”
I hit end and tap restlessly on the handrail. This elevator is taking forever. When I reach the penthouse floor I bypass my room and knock on her door. I get no response. What if she went somewhere other than her room? Would she go to the lobby bar? I don’t think so, but it’s possible that she’s planning to run, as she sometimes does.
I go to my own room, debating my options in this situation. I should’ve been prepared for this eventuality, but our bubble of secrecy made me feel falsely protected even if I wanted it to disappear.
I cross over to the door connecting our rooms and knock quietly, but get no response. I call her again, put my ear to the door and listen, pressing the phone against my thigh to muffle the ringing on my end. I catch the faint sound of her phone through the steel barrier and hear a muffled thump, followed by Amie swearing.
“Amie, baby, can you open the door for me, please? I just want to talk. Can we do that? You know how Armstrong is, how he twists things around. He’s a liar and a manipulator. I’ll answer any questions you have if you just open the door. I’ll explain so it makes sense.”
The silence stretches out, vast and empty.
“Let me try and make it better, Amie, please.”
A muted click has me rushing to my door and throwing it open just as Amie attempts to sneak past with her suitcase. I step out into the hall, blocking her way. “You’re really going to run away without giving me a chance to explain?”
“What’re you going to explain, Lex? How you were getting back at Armstrong for stealing the toy you saw first? How amazing it must’ve felt to steal it back and play with it? I trusted you. How far were you going to take this?”
“You only heard part of the conversation and it was taken out of context. Amie, please come in and talk to me. You know me better than this.”
“I thought I did. I don’t know who to trust.” She closes her eyes and tears track down her cheeks. “I just keep making these bad decisions and I didn’t want you to be one of them.”
“I promise I’m not.”
“Then why does it feel like I’m part of some pissing contest?”
“Look, I should’ve told you about my history with Armstrong and how bad things got when we were kids. Eventually I just backed down and let him have what he wanted because he treats people the same way he treats everything else, with complete disregard. But after what happened at the wedding I was done letting him have things he didn’t deserve. But I promise, Amie, it was never about getting him back. Not for me. I never planned to rub it in his face like he rubbed you in mine.”
I touch her arm and she jerks away. “Don’t.”
“I’m sorry. I only want to talk, Amalie. I won’t touch you again if you don’t want me to.” I motion inside my room.
She sighs and crosses the threshold. I hope my words are going to be enough to keep her from running again.
Twenty-Five: Believe Me
Amie
I feel broken. Shattered might be a better word.
As I stand in the middle of Lex’s room, I acknowledge for a moment that so much of this is my fault. This position I find myself in is my own doing. I’ve created this situation, maybe not consciously, but I’m still the one who should be held responsible for my emotional state.
I hate that Armstrong still has the ability to make me question myself and the people I trust.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Lex asks softly.
I think I’m even in love with his voice.
“Please.” It’s more whisper than word.
“Do you have any preference? I have sparkling water and orange juice.”
I close my eyes against the razorblade edge of pain that simple offering brings. Because Lex knows what my favorite things are. He knows the exact ratio of orange juice to sparkling water I like. He pays attention to the small details. The little things are what made me fall. I want him to fall with me. I don’t want to be alone in this love.