“At one point, I seriously thought about it, but I struggled with Mandarin in school. I don’t like the idea of going to another country to live or work when I can’t speak their primary language. I don’t want to seem entitled.”
Atticus chuckles, taking the book from me and gently setting it back in its place. I’m nervous, so of course, I continue rambling. The control I thought I had? It’s right out the window.
“Visiting Thailand would be great too. I love Thai food. It’s just, again with the language barrier, I’d be so lost without a basic grasp of—”
“Lucy,” Atticus interjects softly, standing directly behind me, close enough for me to feel the warmth of his body as his chest brushes against my back. His fingers sweep gently through my hair, pushing it over one of my shoulders. Our bodies are already touching before I even realize I’m leaning into him. “Wherever in the world you want to visit, eventually, we’ll go.”
“Really?” I whisper, gazing up at him. “You’d want to travel with me?”
“To Singapore, China, Thailand,” he replies. “The Arctic.”
“Not the Arctic.”
“Why not?”
“Your body would probably shut down in temperatures that extreme.”
“You’re probably right. But I’d be with you.”
I’m stricken, frozen, like a deer in the headlights. I’m beginning to realize that I’m standing here, hoping he has me precisely where he wants me.
I’ve always prided myself on my own discipline. Cleanliness, routine, everything neat and just so. I hate messy things, the way they muddle my brain up. When things are messy, I make mistakes. I miss cues, red flags, things I should’ve seen from the get-go.
“Atticus, wait.”
But he’s already leaning in, his lips nearly brushing against mine, and goddammit, I want him to kiss me quiet. His breath teases my skin, and I allow my eyes to flutter shut, ready to ride the moment, let it happen. Surrender.
“Lucy? Lucy Warren?”
Every inch of my body, seconds from melting happily into Atticus’s embrace, turns to ice when I hearhervoice.
Oh, no. Please, no. Anyone but her.
I turn to look, and there she is. My worst nightmare come alive.
“Ellen.” I manage to sound normal, as though saying her name isn’t like knifing me through the ribs. “Hi.”
Ellen Rutherford is picture perfect , with beach-bronze skin and silky brown hair. Her wrists and neckline glitter with simple but elegant gems, and she’s dressed like she’s late for a dinner party with the President of the United States, far too formal for a simple trip to the city library. Perfect hairstyle, perfect smile, perfect nose.
Perfectly pregnant.
The betrayal, the humiliation I endured years ago, that I thought I was over, all comes flooding back to me at once as I’m faced with Ellen in the flesh. I was so sure I’d moved on, but the elegant swell of her flawless little belly bump rips apart those scars I’ve been pretending I don’t have, and it’s takes all I’ve got to fight the flight mode my entire body wants to retreat into.
Atticus straightens behind me and wraps his arm loosely around my waist, regarding the woman standing in the aisle with us and saying nothing.
“It’s been a few years,” Ellen says mildly. I try to ignore the sparkling diamond ring on her finger. “How are you?”
“Fine. I’m fine. I’m just visiting.” I don’t want to have this conversation. Not with her. I force the next word out anyway. “Congratulations. You must be so excited.”
“Thank you. I am.”
She’s being polite, so I can’t—shouldn’t—be mean. Even though I really want to be. “How’s Jason?”
I can’t say his name without an edge to my voice, no matter how nice I try to act. I deal with enough fake back in St. Morgan. I won’t be uncivil, but I won’t be two-faced, either. She winces a little. I don’t like the way she looks at me, like she pities me.
I don’t need her pity.
“He’s good. He’s actually just, um—”
