Page 12 of One Wrong Move

I smile at her. “And you’re not going on a date tonight?”

“Oh no, I absolutely am,” she says. “Compare notes tomorrow?”

Hand me a shovel and I’ll dig this hole even deeper, I think. “Sounds great. Enjoy your night.”

“You, too,” she says with a wink.

I head out of the gallery. It’s a beautiful spring day, still a bit chilly but the evening sunlight counteracts it. Spring used to be my favorite season. Still is, actually. Dean had been a summer-lover, wanting to spend every day outdoors during the hot months. The Hamptons, Montauk, Connecticut. For the past two summers, he had us scheduled to the nines. A week here, a weekend there, we have to make this party…

He hasn’t called me this past week. I know better than to think it’s done, that he’s accepted my decision. We’ll speak soon enough again. But with each day that passes without an angry text or call from him, the calmer I feel about the choices I’ve made.

My mom is a different matter. My phone is practically burning in my bag with the six texts from her I haven’t answered in the last twenty-four hours. She doesn’t understand my decision.

Neither can my big brother, my stepdad, nor my two younger half sisters who hoped to be flower girls at the wedding. My cousin Ashley, who’s not only family but also my best friend, is the only one who told me to go when I said I’d been having panic attacks in the bathroom every night for a week straight at the thought of marrying Dean.

The second I walked out of our apartment, out of his apartment, that anxiety had settled. It hadn’t disappeared, but it had lessened, diminished, as if my body realized it was no longer in danger.

I was finally free.

I walk down the sunbathed London street and feel like everything around me is brand new… because it is. Nothing gives quite the same adrenaline shot straight to the soul as traveling. I wish I had done more of it before. But at least I can do a ton of it now.

I can make up for lost time, and I can become the person I always dreamed of being. And maybe I can get to know myself in the process.

Nate is waiting at the corner of Cadogan Square, a few blocks away from the gallery. He’s leaning against a black car, parked neatly in front of one of the red brick townhouses. I’d fallen in love with all of them on my very first walk in this neighborhood. Tall, beautifully built stone structures with glossy black doors. Each windowsill on the first floor has flower boxes, filled with ivy and white cyclamen.

He’s wearing a suit and a pair of sunglasses, his brown hair swept back over a square forehead. In a navy suit without a tie, the top button undone. He looks cool. Unapproachable. Rich. A couple walking a dog send him several long glances.

Nerves swirl in my stomach.

He has always been so closely associated with Dean in my mind. But he’s also been funny, and kind, and nothing but good to me as his best friend’s girlfriend. Welcoming even, and genuinely interested in my work.

Use me, he’d said.

And there’s no doubt that the event he’s taking us both to is an opportunity for me. I’ve been excited ever since he mentioned it. The London Modern is an internationally renowned gallery. But a private tour? The unveiling of new artists?

He could be Dean himself, and I might have said yes for this opportunity alone.

Nate spots me. He pushes off the side of the car and reaches up to take off his sunglasses.

“Harper,” he says. His voice is deep, and a little amused.

“Hey. Sorry if you’ve had to wait awhile.” I don’t know much about his job, but I know enough to realize that he’s one of those people who is perpetually busy. Frequently traveling for work, stopping over in New York for a day at most sometimes before jetting off again. At thirty-eight, he’s ten years older than me; the same age as Dean. And that difference has been blatant for as long as I’ve known them both.

Their careers are established, their bank accounts full.

“Not at all,” he says. “Now, are you ashamed of me?”

I chuckle. “No, I’m not.”

“Well, having to park around the corner to pick up a girl is mildly embarrassing.”

I glance at the car behind him. I know nothing about vehicles, but recognize an expensive model when I see one. “Can you imagine if you pulled up in that outside my work?”

“I can,” he says. “Your boss might have had a heart attack out of sheer joy.”

“Because he would have thought you were there for him?”

“He should be so lucky,” Nate says easily.

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