Dread pummels me before I even see the picture. I’m not prepared, though. Nothing on this green earth could prepare me. It’s Naomi on the doorstep of a white mansion, looking like a princess out of a storybook. She’ll never look more beautiful to me than when she’s got messy hair and a sunburned nose, but she’s a vision in a pink sundress, her hair twisted up in the back, hands folded at her waist. I drag my eyes to the man who answered the door and a sound escapes me. It’s Elijah. And he’s ravaged at the sight of her. Of course he is. He hasn’t seen Naomi in months. What man wouldn’t look like a shell of themselves after having and losing her?
I stumble from the kitchen to the driveway, no idea where I’m going. The hope I experienced before is long gone. Buried, along with my chance of getting her back. She went to him. She went back to him. The stairs to her apartment creak under my heavy tread as I climb approximately one step an hour. Might as well drop that final league into misery while surrounded by reminders of Naomi, right? I have nothing left to lose.
When I swing the door open, I catch her scent. No. How is that possible? I have to be imagining it. But it’s there. It’s in the room. Birdie came in and collected the sheets weeks ago, because I couldn’t set foot in the place. Where is the scent coming from? I lose the trail at her bed and reverse back to the kitchen, the closet—
The closet.
I throw it open…and find the wedding dress. Still hanging there.
She left it? Why? Didn’t she keep it because she planned to wear it again? Yeah. Yeah, she confirmed it right in this kitchen. I could never forget that detail. It fucking haunts me.
Was she lying? If not to me, then to herself?
I yank the dress off the rack and hold it to my face, inhaling her, tasting her in my bones. Christ, maybe I’m insane to find hope in this discovery. I can’t help it, though. I’m in love with a woman and I refuse to believe she felt nothing for me. Maybe those feelings won’t be enough to let me keep her. If that’s the case, I’ll find a way to live with that.
Nothing worthwhile comes easy, though. Nothing worthwhile comes without a fight.
And I have just enough fight left in me for one more shot.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
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My heart is spontaneously combusting.
Naomi
Being disowned and disinherited was a lot less ceremonious than I expected. After parting ways with Elijah on his doorstep three weeks ago, I simply went home—my hair and clothes drenched from the storm, mascara running—packed my bags and left my parents’ home while my mother screeched threats and insults behind me. There has been no formal letter of banishment from the Clemons clan and I’m sure they know where to find me. Thankfully, my former maid of honor, Harper, had a strong enough yen for the official scoop regarding where I went for two months. Strong enough to let me live in her guesthouse while I figured out my next step. I delivered on the truth and Lord, it felt good to tell someone about Jason and Birdie. By now, word is all over Charleston and frankly, I don’t give a damn.
I’ve been busy over the last three weeks. Not only because I don’t want to live in someone’s guesthouse for long, but because I need action. Distraction. For just a split second every morning before opening my eyes, I think I’m in Jason’s bed in St. Augustine. When reality strikes, my heart is sliced to ribbons all over again. How long is this going to last? Heartbreak doesn’t get better. It doesn’t grow manageable.
I find myself doing little things accidentally on purpose to remind myself of him. Ordering a Budweiser on the nights I go out to eat alone in restaurants. Going down to the ocean off Isle of Palms and sticking my feet in the water. Or searching for his name on a magnet at one of the many downtown tourist stands. I ache every moment of the day for his arms around me and there’s no end in sight.
So I work.
And I crash parties, apparently.
I stare back at myself in the ornate mirror over the restroom sink, resisting the urge to splash cold water on my face and ruin my makeup. On the other side of the door, the swell of an orchestra rises and falls, the gala in full swing. Time to remind myself why I came here tonight. Why I borrowed this silver, floor-length ball gown and Tiffany earrings from Harper and took an Uber to the charity gala where I’m guaranteed to encounter my parents and an avalanche of speculation?