Page 172 of One Wrong Move

Connie makes a thoughtful humming sound. “Fascinating. Who’s the artist?”

I tell her while packing up the last of my things, and find that I’m actually enjoying myself. Broken heart and all. She’s easy to talk to, no-nonsense, and feels more like a peer. A friend. Not like Nate’s sister or someone trying to snoop.

“What are you planning on doing, then?” she asks. “Stay in London? It’s a fantastic city. Similar to New York in some ways, but very, very different in others.”

I nod. “Yes. I’ve been enjoying my time here and I think I want to stay.”

Her smile widens. “That’s wonderful.”

“But it’s not…” I swallow hard. “It’s not because of Nate.”

“Of course not, no. I understand that. And decisions that big shouldn’t be made based on that, either. You’re starting over. You’re exploring new possibilities.” She shrugs, and the movement looks elegant somehow. Like Aadhya’s movements. “I’m such a planner, so this isn’t me giving advice. It’s more like I’m stating something I need to do, too. Which is to be present in the moment and not let the mind run too far ahead.”

“Yeah. I’ve been quite good at that in the last few months,” I say and shove my gym shoes down into my giant suitcase. The one that’s been banged up and patched together, and had carried most of my important belongings across the pond. The rest are stored at my mom and Greg’s house, not that there were many in the end. I thought I had a ton of things. But when I moved out of Dean’s, I realized that most things were his, or were gifts from him. I left all of those behind, too.

I zip up my suitcase with a faint groan. “But maybe I need to think a bit more now,” I say. “Maybe I’ve been going with the flow too much.”

“There needs to be a balance between the two, that’s for sure,” Connie says. “Should I call you a cab? That looks heavy.”

“Yes, please, I think I’ll need one, to get all of this over to the hotel.”

I look around the room. This guest bedroom that I’d stayed in, made my own, felt safe in. Somehow, I shoved the notions of me not paying rent and of having moved straight into another rich man’s home far back into the recesses of my mind. I consigned those thoughts to that hidden box Nate and I used to speak about. But now that box is open, and I can’t ignore its contents any longer.

The room looks like it had when I first moved in. Pristine, luxurious, beige. Empty.

My eyes land on the velvet box lying on the desk. It has an embossed name of the jeweler on the lid.

The diamond and emerald necklace.

I’ve never worn anything this beautiful until Nate gave it to me, and I doubt I ever will again. The memory of that night brings a smile to my lips. It was magical. Despite our current situation, and regardless of what happens between Nate and me moving forward… I will always treasure that evening. Walking the red carpet to watch a world premiere, seeing dozens of celebrities, chatting with the world’s biggest action star… and then there was the vibrator Nate brought for me. That led to the earth-shaking orgasm in the back of a car.

I’ll have to leave that part out when I tell people about that night.

Connie’s soft voice cuts through my reverie. I forgot she was here, standing in the doorway, so alike her brother. “I think he wants you to have that, too,” she says, looking at the jewelry box. “It was a gift.”

I grip my bag tight. Turn my back on the necklace and the memory. “It’s too nice for me,” I say. “But I appreciated the gesture.”

Harper

I’m at the gallery on a sunny day. It’s the kind of summer weather that makes work, even work you love, feel like the worst chore in the world. I only want to be outside. Turn my face toward the sun and feel the grass beneath my feet.

The energy at Sterling is restless. Half of the staff are on summer holidays, including Eitan. Everyone but me, Aadhya, Sean from IT, Deana in sales, and Mike the security guard. Vacations are right around the corner.

The apartments I viewed yesterday were pretty good. Two were out of the question, but the third was a definite upgrade from where I lived before Nate’s. I gave the landlady—a woman in her sixties, with a spare bedroom and en suite bathroom in her townhouse not too far from here—a tentative yes. She loved it when I told her where I worked.

I need to provide her with a firm response before noon tomorrow.

My mind is spinning with incoherent thoughts as I’m flipping through the catalog in front of me. It lists various art pieces from the Heeler Gallery in Seattle in meticulous order. I’m supposed to search through them for a few up-and-coming artists that Eitan’s interested in. See what the comp prices are. But I can’t focus. The names bleed together, one into the other.

I truly thought I would see Nate that day.

Connie was lovely. Surprising, even, with how chatty and open she was. A few of the things she said had stayed with me. I’ve never seen Nate care for anyone the way he cares about you.

He showed it. With every action. Each day when he chose to leave work early to come home. By every trip or excursion he planned for us. He showed it. He hinted at it. Said things that implied it.

But the other important issue is also understanding me, and he didn’t. Not that time. Not concerning my debt to Dean. I’m not sure if I can get over that.

The fear is knotting my stomach. It’s the fear of ending up back in the situation I have only so recently gotten out of.

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