The Beginning of Always (53 page)

She would have known that to save her, I had to kill myself. That I had to stab myself with the knife and carve out my own heart, to release her own towards freedom.

Just like then, now I entered the darkness and cold, the wind-slashed rain hitting me and chilling me, a contrast to the low, warm glow of the barn.

I died.

I was nothing.

I’d ruined everything and it was best that I wasn’t in her life. At every chance, I’d mess everything up.

I knew that most about myself.

Chapter 29

“D
amn,” Alistair muttered.

“Hmm? What?” I rubbed my eyes with the heel of my palm and stretched lazily. The bed was warm and every part of me was perfect and sated. I flopped my hand next to my pillow and rolled my neck to glance at Alistair. His bare back was to me, feet on the floor to the side of the bed and form hunched over his cell phone’s illuminated screen.

“Solomon’s building, that Fifth Avenue spot.” Alistair looked over his shoulder to me. “The Feds showed up last night. There were ties to West Africa, some blood diamond operation.”

“Damn,” I said.

“That’s what I said.”

I squinted out my windows. The sun wasn’t even out, the beginning hint of dawn dripping slowly across the horizon. The sky was a shade of blue-black, twitching with the protest of oncoming light.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Almost four a.m.”

I groaned. It was Monday and I was expected in the office, and it appeared as if Alistair was going to be hauled back to work too. We had done a good job neglecting our responsibilities from Thursday into the dead of weekend, but now it was time to face the music and get back to the grind.

So I wasn’t the least bit surprised or upset when Alistair stood up, telling me, “I have to deal with this. I’ve got to go.”

“Okay,” I answered, sliding my eyes closed. I wanted at least a couple more hours of sleep before rolling into the office. Alistair and I hadn’t spent much of last night, or the past couple days, really, sleeping. We pretty much only slept when Nicolas was around. I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable with the sounds of his sister … you know. Nicolas had already acted weird enough when he had come home early Saturday and found Alistair, barefoot and in his underwear with scratches down his back, in the kitchen brewing coffee.

That was a fun conversation, Alistair had told me when he came back to the room with the illicit coffee. I’d been sheepishly avoiding Nicolas since that meeting, which wasn’t really that hard considering he had picked up extra shifts due to a sick coworker.

Now Alistair was moving around my room, rustling his clothes, and then a door shut and the sound of running water came on. I was just about to sink into REM when I felt lips upon mine. I kissed back, then popped my eyes open.

I broke away, grinning. “Good thing that was you. Otherwise that would have been embarrassing.”

Alistair smirked, pulling his face away so he could see me fully. “You kiss anything that comes into contact with your mouth?”

“Just you.” I pecked him on his cheek. “And food.”

“So when will I see you next?” We had been nigh inseparable, just like old times. We had spent every night together since that amazing Tuesday after we’d left his office.

I liked the way he looked in my space, in my world. It was comfortable and easy to have him around, as if he belonged.

“Aren’t your three weeks over?”

“I can extend it to four,” I said with a saucy grin, shimmying my shoulders.

“Not bored watching me read?”

“Never.” I propped myself on an arm and reached for him. “I already sent in the article, but I can say I’m just hanging around the offices, working on ‘edits.’” I made air quotes.

“Ms. Reynolds, have I become a distraction?”

“The best sort of distraction.” I could enjoy myself for a week or so, allowing myself this pleasure, this crack in my defenses. At least, that was what I told myself as I stroked up and down Alistair’s pant leg, thinking back to last night.

I grinned.

“What are you smiling about?”

“Oh, you know. Dirty stuff.”

Alistair laughed and sat on the side of the bed, stroking my hair. I nestled myself up to him and gave a satisfied sigh while winding my arms around his waist.

Alistair combed my bangs back with his fingers. It was deliciously soothing. “After I finish with Solomon’s crap, let’s take the day off tomorrow. We can go to Central Park together. How about it?”

I peeked up to him. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“I’d really like that.”

“I’d really like that, too.”

“So how long is Solomon’s thing going to take?”

“A day, maybe two tops. I just have to do some damage control since there was talk that we were partnering up with him on the building. Rumors don’t get updated as quickly, so people still may think we’re involved.”

“Poor Cassandra.” It wasn’t some sick sense of schadenfreude going on; I genuinely pitied her. Must really suck to have your husband’s mistakes so resoundingly ruin a carefully controlled glass house of security.

“They’ll be fine. If anything, it’ll be a great test of loyalty.”

“We’ll see how that plays out.” I paused. “But really, will he be okay?”

Alistair stood up, zipping up his jacket and frowning. “Depends on how deep he got with the owners. Best-case scenario would be if he hadn’t signed the contract yet. Worst-case would be if he’d put all his assets on the line for this.”

He leaned and gave me a chaste kiss on the lips. “Go back to sleep. I’ll call you.”

“Good luck.” I rolled my face back into the pillow. “Bye,” came my muffled response.

Alistair petted me one last time on the head, brushing my hair off my cheek, then I heard him walk to the door and leave.

My alarm went off, startling me. My arms flailed, fighting to locate my clock radio atop my nightstand. I smacked the snooze button, then squinted at the time.

8:25 a.m.

Ugh. The back of my head flopped back and I stared at the ceiling. Alistair and I really had to stop staying up so late. We’d probably only had an hour or two of sleep before he’d left.

I grinned to myself at the memory, then shook my head, chastising myself for those perverted thoughts.

But it was okay. I guessed Tracy was right—we were boyfriend and girlfriend now. I was allowed now; it wasn’t taboo anymore. I could want him, I could kiss him, I could … well, I probably still couldn’t tell anyone about us, but after the article printed and enough time passed, then it would be okay.

That’d be nice. No more secrets, no more hiding, just possibilities. I still didn’t want to consider the future, but at the very least there was the inkling of a future now, and not just a past.

And if it was just the physical and the nostalgic, maybe we’d get it out of our systems and reevaluate things.

I swept the backs of my knuckles across my eyes, sitting up and throwing my legs over the edge of the mattress. I didn’t want to think too much about him and us; I had been doing it so much for so long that just acting purely on instinct was refreshing. I didn’t want to give that up.

I rinsed off in the shower, waking up under the cold stream. As I toweled off, I noticed Alistair’s toothbrush sitting next to mine, and despite myself, I smiled faintly. I had busted a pack open after his first night here, and the look he had given me at my offering was so adorable, he was like a kid again.

By the time I was dressed and walking into the kitchen, the time was closer to 8:45. I turned on the coffeepot and glanced out the window. A springtime shower had started and thin raindrops lashed against the glass.

I reached for my phone, which was charging along the bar, hidden amongst the picture frames.

My phone vibrated in my hand as soon as I picked it up, and I frowned.

1207 notifications.

I stared at the lock screen. There was the time, and the date, and underneath it a long list of text messages and e-mails spilled before me. The list updated as soon as the screen turned on, scrolling violently fast in front of my eyes, so quickly I couldn’t properly register what the messages said. Shock filled me with an oddly sick sense of dread.

My phone vibrated again, this time incessantly signaling a video call coming in. I frowned; no one ever video-called me.

Tracy Washington.

I hesitated, then tapped accept. I settled into the barstool and the call connected. Tracy’s disheveled appearance appeared before me.

“Florence!” she cried, fear and anxiety in her voice.

“Tracy, is everything okay? Are you okay?” Her eyes were panicked and she appeared scared.

“I can’t get up to your apartment!” Tracy said, and she thrust her fingers into her wild mane of hair. “I can’t get up!”

“Um.” I hesitated, utterly confused. “I’m leaving for work soon. I’ll just see you in the office.”

“No!” The background shifted behind Tracy. She had jumped up and was pacing around, the video bobbing up and down with her movements. “Don’t go to the offices, don’t go out!”

Okay, now I was really confused. I scratched my cheek, wondering if Tracy was having a meltdown of some sort. “What do you mean? I have to get to work …”

Tracy made a frustrated sound at the bottom of her throat. “Did you just wake up?”

“Uh … yes?”

“Listen, Florence! There’s a huge crowd of reporters at the entrance of the
Journal
and at your apartment building. Holy shit, you’re on the cover of the
Post
!”

“What?” I immediately bolted out of my seat. “What are you talking about?”

“Florence …” Tracy was shaken up, afraid, totally unlike her. “Maybe you should read it yourself …” She trailed off, her eyes skittering off the screen.

“What is this about?”

Tracy had stopped walking and was now just shifting nervously on her feet, the video bouncing in time with her movements. “Go online, read the article, they have it on the front page …”

“Tracy! What is the article on?” I began scrambling around the apartment, trying to find my laptop. I quickly located it on the dining room table and fumbled clumsily to open the lid. It jammed, and I wrestled with it while my chest thudded with anxiety.

“Florence … Florence … it’s about you and … you and Alistair.”

I attempted to sound light and carefree. “I mean, it can’t be that bad, right? They just found out we’re dating or something … it can’t be that bad. I mean, it was bound to happen or something.”

Silence greeted me at the other end, and my heart sunk.

I brought the phone up in front of my face again so I could see her clearly.

“What is it?”

Her features were unhappy, and if I was honest with myself, there was a touch of pity there. “He lied to you, Florence,” she said slowly.

“What are you talking about?”

“Dammit,” Tracy mumbled to herself, and I heard a deep voice next to her.

“Nicolas! Nic! Is that Nic?” I yelled out as my laptop booted up. I silently cursed for it to go faster.

“You talk to her, I don’t know what to say,” Tracy murmured in the background. The video shifted to the ceiling, sounds shuffling and crackling from the phone. Then Nicolas’s familiar face and voice came on.

“Florence?”

“I’m here! Someone, please, tell me what’s going on!”

Nicolas’s expression, in contrast, was stoic and firm. “Florence, go to the
Post
website and read the article. I’m trying to locate Alistair, but he’s not picking up. Just take it with a grain of salt before you freak out.”

“
What the hell is going on?
” I screamed, freaking out.

“Alistair bought the
Journal
months ago. They say he’s planning on making you editor. Did you know about this?”

My fingers trembled as they fought with the keyboard to spell out the
Post
’s site address. The taste of bile threatened and Nicolas’s words ran in a loop in my head.

—bought the Journal

—months ago

I fought for control. I had to confirm this with my own eyes. Until then, I couldn’t freak out.
Don’t freak out, don’t overreact.

There it was. Despite my fruitless prayers that everyone was mistaken and none of it was true, that Tracy and Nicolas and all thousand-plus of my texts and e-mails and apparently the hordes of press crowding the sidewalk outside were just deliriously and hilariously wrong, there it was.

The front page was split. On one side was a picture of Alistair, and on the other side was me, my professional profile photo taken off the
Journal
’s website. I was smiling wide like an idiot, young and wearing a light gray suit with my hair down. It was an earlier photo, straight out of college.

REAL ESTATE MOGUL BUYS
NEW YORK JOURNAL
INSTITUTION FOR GIRLFRIEND
screamed the headlines in blood-red ink, right below the pair of us.

My heart plummeted and my stomach seized into knots. My eyes flickered back to the address. Maybe I had typed the web address wrong. No. It was the right address.