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Max, it seemed, was more trusting than I was, and for that I was glad. I reached for my phone and snuggled back down into his fresh-smelling, blue-and-white-striped sheets. I kissed him gently on his bare shoulder and then opened Instagram to start my morning routine. I checked the Hirshhorn’s accounts first, interacting with some posts and tweets before moving on to check my own. I responded to comments, deleted a few obvious bot comments, and then checked my tags.

I blinked when I saw my most recent tag, wondering if I had somehow clicked back to the Hirshhorn account. But no—there was a photo of one of the Rosalind dioramas, Rosalind in a tiny sparkly dress, out dancing with some of her friends while her masked stalker lurked in the background, and there, right on Rosalind’s little blonde head, was the tag for my personal account: @audreyvmiller.

That doesn’t mean anything, I told myself as my mind began to spin. All it means is that this user @an0nYmiss knows you’re the Social Media Manager and is trying to get your attention.

But then I read the caption: Your apartment misses you.

“Jesus,” I said aloud, shuddering so violently that Max blinked and sat up.

“What is it?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?”

I glanced down at the offending post in my trembling hand. I knew that Max would put his arms around me, tell me it was all right. But what would he really be thinking? Would he start to wonder what kind of trouble he’d invited into his bed? I sure would. I wouldn’t want to see someone whose stalker plainly knew when they weren’t there. What if he knew I was here?

I quickly turned off my screen and grinned. “Nothing. I was just catching up on some celebrity gossip. Sorry if I woke you.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said with a sleepy smile as he leaned over to kiss me. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

That’s right, I thought to myself as I returned the kiss. I didn’t do anything wrong. There was no reason I needed to tell him about that post. No reason to worry him.





CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR





CAT


Every once in a while, you meet a couple so well matched, so clearly perfect for each other that you can’t help but believe in destiny.” Priya paused and looked around, her eyes misty. “Tonight, we’re gathered to celebrate one of those couples. Jessa and Lamar, we love you and couldn’t be more thrilled that you’re engaged. Everyone, please join me in raising a glass to the happy couple. Congratulations, you guys!”

I lifted my plastic champagne flute into the air along with the three dozen other people assembled on the roof of Priya’s apartment complex. She’d rented the entire space, complete with a wet bar, fire pits, and an unobstructed view of the Capitol, for the party, and decorated it with gold balloons spelling out Jessa’s and Lamar’s names. Priya was streaming some pop music I didn’t recognize through unseen speakers, and everyone was toasting and refilling their champagne and hugging and laughing.

I shouldn’t have come, I thought.

I almost hadn’t. I was happy for Jessa and Lamar, of course, but I had already congratulated them, had heard the story of their engagement at least twice, and would send the appropriate gifts at the appropriate intervals. Was it really necessary for me to also make small talk with friends of friends instead of tackling the mountain of work I had at home? Since joining Bill’s team, I’d been even more buried under work than usual, and I knew that taking tonight off would mean I had to work all weekend. I had been formulating an excuse for Priya when Audrey texted me See you tonight at Priya’s! I’d paused. If Audrey was going, so should I. After all, these weren’t her friends. I didn’t want her to feel alone.

But the party had been in full swing for more than an hour and Audrey had yet to make an appearance. I pulled out my phone and started composing a message reprimanding her for being so inconsiderate to my friends, but then I stopped and sighed. It wasn’t like it mattered. Audrey could blow off the party completely and my friends would forgive her. People like Audrey were always forgiven.

? ? ?

“GORGEOUS NIGHT, HUH?” Connor said, materializing at my side. “Thank God we’re not trapped in the office.”

A shiver ran through my body and I nodded, not telling him I’d just been planning my exit so I could get back to work.

“Priya always has known how to throw a party. Remember that wild come-as-you-are party first year?” He chuckled. “Nice toast, too. That bit about destiny . . . What did you think?”

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. Was he asking me whether I liked Priya’s toast or whether I believed in destiny? And, if it was the latter, was it some sort of sign? I thought back to a night earlier in the week when Connor and I had been reviewing a stack of potential exhibits in a conference room at two in the morning. He leaned over me, putting his hand on my shoulder and . . . squeezed, sort of. In the moment, I had frozen, and then I’d spent the intervening days wondering whether it was a pass of some sort. And now this question about destiny? My heart fluttered.

I swallowed and then answered honestly. “Nothing in life is preordained. Destiny and fate are just excuses people use when they’re too lazy to put in real work.”

He burst out laughing. “God, Harrell, you’re such a pragmatist. I suppose I should have expected you to say something like that, though. I’ve never met anyone who works harder than you.”