“What?” she says, now sounding utterly flustered, a liar caught in her own lies.
“He never said a word about you, and I thought he figured it out himself. But I guess not. I guess everyone talked about it behind my back. Did you laugh too?”
“Evie, hon—”
“Don’t Evie, hon me.”
“What did you expect? You had so little, and I couldn’t give you much as a child.”
“What does that matter?” I demand, confusion and anger tearing at me.
“I wanted you to have the idea of a nice father at least.”
“So you lied when I called you and said Dad found me? You couldn’t tell your full-grown adult daughter that he’s really a jerk I should stay away from?”
“Evie, I’m sorry. I just wanted you to have some good memories. Why is that so hard to understand?”
Disappointment drips into me like drops of ink, dirtying my view of my life and people around me. Suddenly I’m exhausted. “I had good enough memories, Mom. You were enough for me. You didn’t have to lie,” I say quietly, then hang up, not wanting to deal with her excuses. I don’t have the energy right now.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Nate
The rest of the week is sheer torture. Evie and I are living together, for which I’m eternally grateful. She doesn’t select my outfits, but she still makes me the shakes like usual. She even makes me coffee, goes to all the meetings and organizes my work schedule as efficiently as ever.
But there’s the Great Wall. It isn’t made of pillows this time—because I burned them all—but it’s just as solid. And this new wall is sandwiched between two gulfs the size of the Grand Canyon. Evie doesn’t smile, and she’s often pensive. I tell myself it’s going to work out, because she isn’t the type to hold a grudge and time will make it better. But if I’m honest with myself, I don’t know if that’s really true. There are times when I’m tempted to just hold her and tell her sorry I am, but she looks so fragile and brittle that I’m afraid she’s going to shatter if I touch her wrong. And I’m not confident I’ll be able to put the pieces back together.
Fuck. I call myself a thousand kinds of moron for causing the damned wall to come between us again. The worst thing is that I don’t know how to smash through it. When I look at things from her point of view, she’s right. I fucked up. I just don’t know how much longer I can stand this punishment or deal with the anxiety building inside me.
I’ve rarely had things not go the way I want in the end. Hell, I was born lucky. Only the most ungrateful bastard could complain about being born into a family like mine, with billions of dollars, loving parents and relatives. That alone puts me ahead of ninety-nine percent of the world population.
And no matter how it might look to outsiders, I’m happy to be married to Evie, I couldn’t be more ecstatic about our baby. But I know that unless I do something, I’m going to lose them both.
And that is unacceptable.
So on Friday, I ask Yuna if she can see me.
You need to buy me lunch. I’m stil
l peeved you canceled on me and Court, she texts. It’s fine. I’ll buy her whatever she wants.
We meet at a cute American bistro of her choice. She comes with two women tagging along—her mother’s assistants. Yuna calls them spies, but I think it’s sweet of her mom to be so protective. Yuna is a wealthy heiress, single, a perfect target for an unscrupulous man like Bradley Brown or some other fortune hunter.
I groan when I see Court walk in. I didn’t realize she invited him. I only wanted her opinion. Court is not female, and therefore, can’t possibly understand exactly how Evie is feeling or know a way to fix this. He’s the friend I’d turn to when I need someone to drown my panic in twenty-thousand-buck-a-bottle whiskey.
“Hey, man, what’s up?” he says.
“What kind of greeting is that? Can’t you see something’s wrong?” Yuna tells Court, sitting down.
I raise an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”
She makes circles with her index finger around my face. “It’s all over. Your expression says, ‘Something’s seriously wrong.’”
I pull back, surprised I’m wearing my feelings so obviously. I’m harder to read than this…aren’t I?
Then I think, Who cares? My life is a fucking mess. I run a hand over my face.
“So she’s right?” Court says.