But I don’t. I watch the zipper and my fingers all the way down as the sides of the dress part, past the band of her strapless bra, until I brush the curve of her ass above the thin, barely there strip of her pale blue lace thong.
Before the dress can fall to the floor, she clutches it to her chest and steps away from me. A moment later I’ve forced myself to turn and stare out the window, and by the time I let myself look back at her, she’s slipped into navy sweatpants and a Michigan T-shirt, thrust her feet into a pair of sturdy sandals, and looped a leather handbag over her shoulder.
I know that pale blue lace thong is still under there.
There’s a cowboy hat hanging on the wall, and I grab it and clap it onto her head. It’s too big for her, which is perfect; it covers her updo and puts her face in deep shadow. Without another word to each other, we’re slipping out of the bridal prep room and down the back stairs of the venue, out the door, and to the parking lot. There are a few people still making their way from their cars to their seats, but if they recognize incognito Eden, they don’t call out.
“Where’s your car?” I ask.
“It’s—I didn’t come in my car. Paul drove our car here. Or was supposed to. Mari gave me a ride.”
I tug her down the row of cars to mine. It’s a BMW 740i, a rental. I don’t drive in New York City, so when I get the chance, I like to drive something gorgeous and powerful. “Get in,” I say, and she does.
I peel out of the parking lot and head toward town, which I know from her paperwork is where her condo is. But she’s shaking her head. “I don’t want to go ho—there,” she says.
The fact that she can’t call it “home” anymore cracks something in my chest. “Where do you want me to take you?”
“Just—drive,” she says.
I need to go back to the venue and figure out how to handle the guests. I need to do everything in my power to keep Arthur Weggers from seeing the whole picture of what just happened. I need?—
I need to do whatever she needs me to do.
She takes my silence as hesitation. She thinks I’m going to refuse her. “I can’t go back there,” she pleads. “Please. Just drive.” And then, when I hesitate again, for a second, thinking of Hanna, “You owe me!”
I think of Eden in that courtroom on that last day, of the slump of her shoulders and the way her head hung. Because of what I’d caused or at least allowed.
I had fiduciary responsibilities to Teller. Duties of loyalty and care. I couldn’t ethically negotiate for what was less optimal for him. But also, I helped him hurt her.
I wiped her brave face off.
When that was the last thing I’deverwanted.
I’ll own that—for her, and also for my mom and Aunt Meryl and every other woman who’s ever been wronged by an asshole man.
So I drive.
6
Eden
Dear Eden,
I know it’s the biggest cliché in the book, but it’s not you, it’s me. I’ve always thought that when you know, you know…and I just didn’tknowfor sure. And I thought you deserved better than that. I’m so sorry. I know this is the worst way to do things… I’ll pay for everything.
—Paul
It’s quiet in the car. And quiet inside me. Perfectly numb.
The first question Rhys asks me is “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know.” And then, “Just drive.”
He does.
I grapple with the ring on my finger, a solitaire circle-cut diamond. It catches on my knuckle and jams. Panic grips me, tight around my chest. Then the ring slips free and into my palm. I drop it into an interior pocket of my purse and zip it shut.
Scowling, I take the cowboy hat off my head and toss it into the back seat.
