Page 123 of When We Had Forever
When I get home, I finally unpack the Porsche. Mostly to get the lantern, which I set on my glass work desk in the living room.
I light it. Even though it’s daytime.
Really, I just want to see it glow.
The next morning, I get an email from Travelique.
I sit at my desk, my heart a blur inside my chest. Siobhan Monroe—senior editor, apparently—wants to run my article as part of a collaborative feature with a “noted photographer.” She doesn’t give a name, but she doesn’t have to.
I try to calm the flurry of my pulse. That night at Grayson’s hotel—he must’ve taken those pictures right before I showed up. Purely for my sake.
Thinking about him hurts, but it also leaves an echo of warmth behind. I can’t figure out what that means. If anything.
Eventually, I give up trying and simply yield to the hum in my blood. This offer is a victory. A stepping stone toward building a life on my own terms.
I print out the Travelique contract, then sign it and send it back. They’re not offering much, but Siobhan’s email hints that if the article does well, she’ll be interested in more.
I text Kate the good news.
Within minutes, my best friend responds that she’s on her way with “skinny celebration margaritas.” It’s not even noon, and I don’t know what skinny celebration margaritas are, but by the time I open the front door, I’m convinced they’re the only thing that will do.
A refreshingly put-together-looking Kate stands on my welcome mat, brandishing a bottle. Her brown eyes widen as they travel up and down. Up again. Down again. “What the hell? What happened to you? I just saw you a week and a half ago.”
I raise an eyebrow. I honestly have no idea what she sees. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve gained weight. In a good way. And there’s something different about you. Also in a good way? I think? Or not? And...” She trails off, her attention fastening on my neck. “Oh my god. You have a hickey. Why do you have a hickey?”
My hand flutters to my throat. This is one distinct disadvantage to having chin-length hair.
“Whathappened?” she demands.
I shuffle my feet, which only wastes time, because of course I’m going to tell her. “Um...Grayson Drake happened?”
She stares, her hand loosening around her gift. Since I have precisely zero replacement skinny celebration margaritas in the house, I swipe the bottle before it smashes all over my welcome mat.
“Mina,” she whispers, eyes round. “Did you have sex with your brother?”
“My brother’s dead, Kate. So no. But if you’re asking whether I had sex with my formerbrother-in-law, who is now no longer my brother-in-law, or, in fact, related to me in any way, then yes. I did. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. No, it’s like, aglimpseof the tip of the iceberg. From forty miles away.”
“Holy shit,” she says. “You’re so lucky I brought booze. Tell me everything.”
As we suck down our margaritas, which turn out to be even tastier than anticipated, I spill the whole story.
Kate’s eyes get wider and wider. By the time I finish, her mouth hangs open. Spots of color burn on her cheeks. “Please tell me you made all this up.”
“I wish.”
“You mean Michael lied to you? For years?Trickedyou? And then just...never confessed?”
I hesitate, even though there’s only one answer. “Seems that way.”
She flops back against the couch arm, a hand pressed to her chest. “Wow. I’ve heard some stories in my life, but this one takes the cake. Shit. I’d murder Michael myself, if he wasn’t already dead.”
I bark a laugh, even though nothing she says surprises me anymore.
“At least you’re being rational about everything, though.”
“Am I?” Absently, I swirl my straw around in my glass. “Being rational?”
