Page 97 of The Serendipity

Given our first meeting, Willa’s insistence last night shouldn’t have been a shock. My first impression served as a warning—one I let myself forget.

I let other things cloud my judgment. I let myself get caught up in her beauty and the lightness she added to my life and?—

“Are you planning to use the elevator as an office today?”

I open my eyes. We’re at our floor, and Bellamy is holding open the door. From the tone of his voice, I expect he’s been holding it open for quite some time. Still refusing to look at him, I exit and storm toward my office, ignoring the stares. I’m sure there are whispers too but all I can hear is blood rushing in my ears.

The rest of the day goes much like this. My day is bookended by two other terrible days. Yesterday: the conversation with Willa. Tomorrow: my father’s trial.

Bellamy wasn’t wrong about my mood, even if I don’t love his animal analogy. My skin feels itchy, and my head won’t stop pounding. Every conversation leaves me irrationally angry, and when I find a tin of mints in my drawer, I have a momentary sense of calm. Until I have two in my mouth.

Theydotaste like spicy dirt.

I’m spitting them into a wastebasket when Bellamy walks into my office without knocking. He closes the door behind him and sits down, wearing a grim expression.

“Would you like to talk about it?” But even as I open my mouth, he leans forward and speaks again. “Scratch that. I’m not asking. I’m telling. Talk to me, Archer. This seems like it’s much larger than your father’s trial. What happened after I left? Something with Willa?”

I don’t answer.

“You’re going to make me guess? We’re playing mood charades now? Okay, let’s see …” Bellamy rubs his chin with the kind of dramatic thoughtfulness that makes me wish his chair was on wheels so I could shove him out of my office and send him careening down the hallway. “Four words. Film.How to Lose a Girl in Ten Days? No, wait. That’s not the right title. Hm. I’ve got it!She’s Just Not That into You.”

I try not to rise to his teasing. I try. “Why do you assume it’s my fault?”

“Ah, so there is anit. It, as in breakup? Or fight?”

I drag a hand over my face. “I don’t know. Both? Neither?”

Bellamy waits. And after a moment, I lean forward.

“How would you respond if someone you love lies to you?”

I only realize what I’ve said after the brief flash of shock Bellamy quickly hides. Love. I love Willa. Not past tense but present.

Which only makes the feeling of betrayal worse.

“Did Willa lie to you?” Bellamy’s tone is measured, as carefully constructed as the brutal expression he wears. But I can still sense his shock.

He and Willa have grown fairly close as well—I blame the cookies.

“Yes, she lied.” I wince, picturing Willa’s face as she told me about transporting into my closet. She was nervous, afraid to tell me. “No. I think she believes what she said.”

“And you don’t?”

“It’s impossible. It can’t be true.”

“Do you think Willa’s delusional, then?” he asks slowly. Each word sinks like a stone in my gut.

“No.”

After a moment in which Bellamy clearly hopes I’ll elaborate and I clearly am not about to, he stands.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Bellamy says, pausing at the door. “I guess you need to think about which is more impossible: whatever thing Willa told you or the idea that she lied to you about it.”

I’m pacing my apartment later that night when my phone blows up with a series of notifications. All the bells and chimes and vibrations tell me something newsworthy has happened. And because I’m receiving phone calls and texts from Bellamy, whatever it is has to do with me.

I leave my phone on the kitchen counter face down. In my experience, which has been far too frequent the past eighteen months, this won’t be good news. Did my father find a way to ditch his ankle monitor and leave the country? Or maybe he found some new, devious way to pin it all on me.

Whatever it is, I have more important things on my mind. Specifically, a more important person.

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