It Ends With Us(24)

I follow Allysa into the kitchen, where she shoves a glass of champagne in my hand. “Drink,” she says. “You deserve it!”

I take a sip of the champagne, but I can’t even appreciate it now that I’m getting a look at her industrial-sized kitchen with two full stovetops and a fridge bigger than my apartment. “Holy shit,” I whisper. “You actually live here?”

She giggles. “I know,” she says. “And to think, I didn’t even have to marry him for money. Marshall had seven bucks and drove a Ford Pinto when I fell in love with him.”

“Doesn’t he still drive a Ford Pinto?”

She sighs. “Yeah, but we have a lot of good memories in that car.”

“Gross.”

She wiggles her eyebrows. “So . . . Devin is cute.”

“And probably more into Marshall than me.”

“Ah, man,” she says. “That’s a bummer. I thought I was playing matchmaker when I invited him to the party tonight.”

The kitchen door opens and Devin walks in. “Your husband is looking for you,” he says to Allysa. She twirls her way out of the kitchen, giggling the whole time. “I really like her,” Devin says.

“She’s great, huh?”

He leans against the island and says, “So. I think I just met The Beggar.”

My heart flutters down my chest. I think The Neurosurgeon has a better ring to it. I take another sip of my champagne. “How do you know it was him? Did he introduce himself?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, but he overheard Marshall introducing me to someone as ‘Lily’s date.’ I thought the look he gave me was going to set me on fire. That’s why I came in here. I like you, but I’m not willing to die for you.”

I laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m sure that death glare he gave you was really his smile. They’re superimposed most of the time.”

The door swings open again and I immediately stiffen, but it’s only a caterer. I sigh with relief. Devin says, “Lily,” like my name is a disappointment.

“What?”

“You look like you’re about to puke,” he says, accusingly. “You really like him.”

I roll my eyes. But then I let my shoulders drop and I fake cry. “I do, Devin. I do, I just don’t want to.”

He takes my glass of champagne and downs the remainder of it, then locks his arm in mine again. “Let’s go mingle,” he says, pulling me out of the kitchen against my will.

The room is even more crowded now. There have to be more than a hundred people here. I’m not even sure I know that many people.

We walk around and work the room. I stand back while Devin does most of the talking. He knows someone in common with every person he’s met so far, and after about half an hour of following him around, I’m convinced he’s made it a personal game to find someone in common with everyone here. The whole time I mingle with him, my attention is half on him and half on the room, searching for traces of Ryle. I don’t see him anywhere and I begin to wonder if the guy Devin saw was even Ryle to begin with.

“Well, that’s odd,” a woman says. “What do you suppose it is?”

I look up and see that she’s staring at a piece of art on the wall. It looks like a photograph blown up on canvas. I tilt my head to inspect it. The woman turns her nose up and says, “I don’t know why anyone would bother turning that photograph into wall art. It’s awful. It’s so blurry, you can’t even tell what it is.” She walks away in a huff, and I’m relieved. I mean . . . it’s a bit weird, but who am I to judge Allysa’s taste?

“What do you think?”

His voice is low, deep, and right behind me. I close my eyes briefly and inhale a steadying breath before quietly exhaling, hoping he doesn’t notice his voice has any effect on me whatsoever. “I like it. I’m not quite sure what it is, but it’s interesting. Your sister has good taste.”

He steps around me so that he’s at my side, facing me. He takes a step closer until he’s so close, he brushes my arm. “You brought a date?”

He’s asking it like it’s a casual question, but I know it isn’t. When I fail to respond, he leans in until he’s whispering in my ear. He repeats himself, but this time it isn’t a question. “You brought a date.”

I find the courage to look over at him and instantly wish I hadn’t. He’s in a black suit that makes the scrubs look like child’s play. First I swallow the unexpected lump in my throat and then I say, “Is it a problem that I brought a date?” I look away from him and back at the photograph hanging on the wall. “I was trying to make things easier on you. You know. Just trying to make it stop.”

He smirks and then downs the rest of his wine. “How thoughtful of you, Lily.” He tosses his empty wineglass toward a trash can in the corner of the room. He makes the shot, but the glass shatters when it hits the bottom of the empty container. I glance around me, but no one saw what just happened. When I look back at Ryle, he’s halfway down a hallway. He disappears into a room and I stand here, looking at the picture again.

That’s when I see it.

The picture is blurred, so it was hard to make out at first. But I can recognize that hair from anywhere. That’s my hair. It’s hard to miss, along with the marine-grade polymer lounge chair I’m lying on. This is the picture he took on the rooftop the first night we met. He must have had it blown up and distorted so no one would notice what it was. I bring my hand to my neck, because my blood feels like it’s bubbling. It’s really warm in here.