Page 3 of Before You Go
Nodding, I hold my breath when he stops in front of me and leans forward to brush his lips across my cheek.
“See you tomorrow evening.”
I don’t reply. The reminder that our connection will never fully be severed washes away any of my earlier relief. He and I will always be in each other’s lives in one way or another. Our families are linked through business and friendships that were established long before either of us were born.
When I hear the door close behind me, I walk over to flip the lock in place, then head across my studio to PJ, who is whining, trying to get my attention. Opening his kennel, I pull him out, and he instantly nuzzles into my neck, like he senses that I’m upset and is trying to comfort me.
I never planned on having an animal of any kind, but two years ago, I walked into a pet shop with my best friend Molly, who was picking up food for her dog, and I saw PJ in a pen in the middle of the store. The moment I laid eyes on him, I couldn’t help but ask if I could hold him, and it wasn’t long after that I was leaving the store with a puppy I had no clue how to take care of.
Matthew instantly hated him, but I was in love, so I didn’t care in the slightest how he felt. Those first couple of months were a learning experience for PJ and me, since he was still very much a baby at that time, but we figured things out, and he’s been my companion and furry best friend ever since. After giving him some love and assuring him that I’m okay, I give him one of his favorite treats that he carries across the apartment to his bed.
Then, with my mind still itching from signing the divorce papers and my interaction with Matthew, I grab a blank canvas from a stack propped up against the wall and let go of my emotions with heavy strokes of my brush and darker colors than I normally use. And even though the painting isn’t one that anyone else will ever see, that night when I finish, I think it might be my favorite creation yet.
CHAPTER 2
Francisca
“Wow.” My Uber driver Amiee, who is probably in her sixties, whistles when my parents' home comes into view at the end of their long, tree-lined driveway. “Who lives here?”
“I’m not sure. I was just told to meet my friend at this address.” It’s a lie I’ve told often, so it falls easily off my tongue. My father is either loved or hated in Nashville, and there is no in-between, but that’s the way it goes when you’re dealing with politics. But the awe in my voice isn’t quite fake. Even growing up in the mansion we’re driving toward, I know it’s impressive. With two stories made of towering bricks, six lit-up pillars, and wide steps that cascade down the front to the edge of the circular driveway, it looks like something royalty in Europe would live in.
“I need better friends.” Amiee laughs, meeting my gaze in the rearview mirror, and I smile at her.
When we reach the front of the long line of cars that are either dropping people off or waiting to be parked by the valet my mom set up for the evening, I pick up my clutch from the seat next to me, then scoot across it to the passenger door.
“Thank you for the ride.”
“Any time, darlin’, and if you need a ride later, I should be in the area.”
“Thanks.” I start to push the door open, but a young guy—probably sixteen or seventeen—gets it before me.
“Good evening,” he mumbles, looking uncomfortable in the dress shirt he’s wearing while his mop of dirty blond hair falls into his eyes.
“Good evening.” I swing my legs out of the car at the same time to avoid flashing him as I get out. Once I’m on my feet, I adjust my dress. The cabernet-colored tulle material with sequins glitters, and while the corset bodice is stretchy, the dress is also short and tight, so there isn’t much adjusting I can do.
As the kid closes the door behind me, I press my clutch against my stomach, which is swarming with anxiety, and walk up the steps to the open door of the house, where I can see dozens of people inside. You’d think after attending parties like this my whole life that I would be used to them, but I’m not. Crowds and people make me uncomfortable, especially these people, with their fake smiles and even faker personalities, each a copy-and-paste of the man or woman next to them.
Stepping over the threshold into the house, I scan the open foyer for my mother, but she’s nowhere in sight, which is a surprise. Normally, she’s at the door greeting people as they arrive.
“Champagne?” a young woman in a crisp white dress shirt and bowtie asks, holding a silver tray out toward me.
“Please.” I take one of the flutes and down the cold liquid in one gulp, watching her eyes widen.
“Thank you.” I place the glass down on her tray and pick up another. If I’m going to make it through tonight, I’m going to need to be tipsy, which is why I didn’t drive myself.
“Uh… you’re welcome.” Her smile is wonky.
Smiling back, I take the full glass with me and move through the crowd, avoiding eye contact by keeping my head lowered and my eyes on my feet. The only thing that sucks is I can still hear the whispers as I pass people.
This is the first event I’ve attended since Matthew and I separated, and I’m sure most of the people here now know we are divorced and they’re coming up with their own versions of why that happened.
He cheated? I cheated? We couldn’t have kids? He worked too much? I was too focused on my business?
None of it’s true—well… not most of it anyway.
Walking around the corner into the living room—which is more of a showroom since no one uses it unless there’s a party—I stumble back after running headfirst into someone coming around it from the opposite side. Their huge body almost knocks me off my feet and hits my hand just right so that my cold champagne splashes across my chest and down the front of my dress, making me gasp.
“Shit.” Large, warm hands wrap around my bare upper arms as I lift my gaze up and up to eyes a shade of blue that are so uniquely beautiful they remind me of one of my favorite paintings by Vincent van Gogh. My eyes leave his, and I quickly scan the rest of his features: blond hair that is a touch too long, square jaw, full lips, and heavy brow. I don’t know him, but I swear there is something familiar about him. “You okay?” he asks.
