Chapter 6 Choice
If anything, Marnie’s temper got worse on her journey home. As she drove through the winding roads, the sky pitch-black and the trees ominously hanging over the road, she gripped her steering wheel with hands like iron, negotiating turns and banks at a pace that even Doug — who considered speed limits a suggestion and not a hard and fast rule — would have considered reckless.
But Marnie didn’t care. She was tired and angry and generally pissed off, so much so that when a deer darted in front of her car, causing her to slam on the brakes and lose velocity, she wound down her window to shout profanities as it disappeared into the inky darkness of the forest.
Her disappointment in her son was staggering. So staggering that she felt it all the way from her mind to stomach, both of which turned and went into overdrive. Tom had gotten a girl pregnant and abandoned her. He’d met his daughter — my grandchild , Marnie thought indignantly — and walked away from her. Marnie’s fury was as hot as the blood pumping around her body, and she took a deep breath as she started her car’s engine once more, speeding again until the lights of the house appeared on the horizon before her.
She parked her car on the drive for her chauffeur to deal with in the morning, then slumped back in the driver’s seat, abruptly feeling exhausted. The burst of angry energy that had sustained her drive home dissipated into the evening air. Her mind considered a new and awful realisation, a sliver of doubt in herself suddenly arising: Part of this is my fault.
It suddenly occurred to Marnie that if Tom was the kind of man who would abandon a pregnant lover, the kind of man who would walk away from a child of his flesh, well, then she was the mother who’d raised that kind of man. She knew she hadn’t been the best of mothers. She knew she’d worked too much during Tom’s childhood, knew that her distance from his beloved father had hurt him, knew that her dedication to her business and the protégés who had swarmed around her, like drones to a queen bee, had made him feel second best. But she always thought, beyond everything, that she’d instilled in him the values she’d cherished. Those of honesty, hard work and accountability.
With Ari and his daughter, Tom had abandoned all three.
Marnie walked into her house, slipping her heels off in the hallway and taking a small measure of relief from the feel of the cool, marble floor. She considered the sweeping staircase before her, knowing she should probably go upstairs, shower and jump into bed, but the thought did not appeal. What she really wanted, right then, was a hard drink and a cigarette, although she knew there were no smokes in the house. Doug, for all his hard-drinking and hard-living ways, had been surprisingly firm on nicotine.
“Not in my fucking house,” he’d growled at her, and Marnie, young and in love and wanting to please her new lover, had watched as he’d snapped every last cigarette she owned in half.
It was a rule that had stuck over the years, and even now, when Doug was long gone, every member of her staff still followed the same routine. If ever Marnie was tempted to smoke and bought cigarettes, they were duly destroyed. Mrs Hollis was particularly good at it, taking an almost sadistic glee in flushing her tobacco stores away. Right then, desperate for a hit of nicotine, Marnie hated her. She hated them all.
She turned right, walking into the library with its French doors left open to the evening air. That’s odd, Marnie thought. The doors were always closed in the evening when the household went to bed. They were never left open, not even on the hottest of summer nights.
She was about to call for Mrs Hollis, about to make a scene, when she smelt it — smoke, rich and heady, like the peatiest of open fires, drifting through the air. Cigarettes. Marnie’s heart sang, drawn to the scent like a sailor to a siren in the open sea. She turned, following its direction.
She stopped when she saw a man sitting in an old armchair, facing the open doors. His legs were crossed languidly, and he was dressed in a robe and slippers. It was the wedding planner, Marnie realised. Sebastian. The one who fawned over Sasha and planned to bleed her coffers of money. Ari’s brother. The one who had spent more time with her granddaughter than she ever had, and more than likely ever would. A flash of anger passed through her, and she was ready to have it out with him, to berate him for his presumption in smoking in her nicotine-free establishment. The fucking nerve of him, she thought viciously.
Fists clenched, red-cheeked, she stormed to his side, mentally working out what to say. He glanced up at her, taking another long drag on his cigarette, seemingly unperturbed by her obvious anger.
“Smoke?” he asked, offering up his pack of cigarettes, and after one small moment of hesitation, Marnie nodded tightly.
“Thank you,” she replied, leaning down to slide one out, allowing Sebastian to light it up.
She slid into the armchair next to his, drawing long and hard on the cigarette and feeling her body sag with relief at the sweet hit of tobacco. She felt Sebastian’s eyes on her, and she looked towards him.
“What?” she snapped.
“You look as though you’ve had a right shit of a day, is all,” he replied easily, his face placid.
Marnie took another drag. “My son fell out of the sky earlier today, in case you’d forgotten.”
Sebastian nodded, taking another drag himself, his face so utterly unconcerned and emotionless that it suddenly occurred to Marnie that he had probably forgotten, or — much more likely — simply didn’t care. They’d signed the contracts. At this point, Marnie paid up whether the wedding went ahead or not.
“How is our groom?” he asked. “No horrible scarring, I hope?”
“Why? Worried it will ruin the wedding photos?”
“God no. Stella Snow is a fucking genius and could make Quasimodo look like Brad Pitt if she wanted to. But it is a bit of an inconvenience to be constantly pausing a wedding to apply cold compresses to stitches, or to mop up the occasional spurt of blood.”
Marnie raised an eyebrow. “That happen often in your weddings?”
“Ari and I planned this one wedding where the groom got shit-faced at his stag party and tried to climb Nelson’s Column at Trafalgar Square. As the police were pulling him off the poor bastard smacked his face onto one of the lion’s asses, cracking his cheekbone and losing two teeth.” Sebastian gave a satisfied grin. “It was hilarious. He had to spend the entirety of his wedding looking left.”
“Was that his good side?” Marnie asked wryly, and Sebastian laughed.
“Darling, when you’ve busted your cheekbone and lost two teeth, you don’t have a good side , trust me.”
Marnie considered him as she sucked down another lungful of nicotine. “You really enjoy what you do, don’t you?”
“Well, I like people,” Sebastian replied easily.
“More specifically?”
He shrugged. “Well, I like their money. I like that they pay me for my opinions. I like that women trust me when they’re at their most vulnerable.”
Marnie thought instantly of Sasha. She would never describe her particular breed of bride as vulnerable , not in a million years. Her face must have given her thoughts away, because she saw Sebastian looking at her with a knowing sort of interest.
“Sasha is—”
“My soon-to-be daughter-in-law,” Marnie cut in sharply, her voice a warning. “And I promised Tom I would be kind.”
“Well, yes,” Sebastian replied, before he leaned in closer to her. “But he’s not here , darling. Bitch away, if you like. My ears are open, but my mouth is sealed.”
Marnie flicked the ash from her cigarette into the tray Sebastian had beside him, and then looked twice at the cut crystal glass.
“That,” she pointed, ignoring his comments about Sasha, “came from France, you know.”
“France,” Sebastian mused thoughtfully. “I love France.”
“Yes, I do too. My name’s actually Marine, you know. But at my first school they wrote my name down wrong, and Marnie has stuck ever since.”
“My name is Greek. So is Ari’s. She’s actually Ariadne, though we never call her that.”
“Greek?” Marnie asked.
“Yes. Our mother was an actress. Or at least, she wanted to be. Sebastian and Ariadne come from The Two Gentlemen of Verona .”
“My boys are Corentin and Thomas.” Marnie paused, then gave Sebastian a look. “You talk about your mother in the past tense. She’s dead?”
Sebastian shrugged. “To me and Ari she is.”
His tone of voice showed that he would say nothing more on that subject, and so Marnie sat back, enjoying the quiet for a moment as the nicotine began to sing in her bloodstream.
Without asking, Marnie reached for another cigarette, lighting one up and drawing on it slowly. She gave Sebastian a long, level look, weighing up in her mind whether she liked this man or not.
“Why do you call everyone ‘darling’?” she asked him finally. “What is that?”
“An endearment.” Sebastian stubbed out his own cigarette before also lighting another. “Women appreciate it.”
“You think that’s what women want in life? Endearments?”
“My brides certainly do. Well, I suppose they might want something else too. But it’s nothing I’m equipped to give them.”
Marnie made a small noise of disgust. “If you’re talking about sex—”
Sebastian laughed. “Darling, no, absolutely not. You ask a bride what she wants, and she’ll lie to you. She’ll give the usual spiel... love, world peace, designer heels, a happy marriage. But,” he leaned closer to Marnie, so close she could see the perfect white pearls of his teeth, “if you ask her what she really wants, she’ll be honest with you. Trust me. I’ve planned weddings for a hundred brides, and they’ve all wanted the same thing, and sex has never come into it.”
“So, you’re saying none of your brides wanted sex?” Marnie asked disbelievingly.
“Nope,” Sebastian replied easily. “They were all brides. They were all in relationships. They were all having sex, darling. They didn’t want more of what they already had. No. What they wanted was something better than sex.”
“Better than sex?” Marnie raised an eyebrow. “All right. I’m hooked. Tell me, what did they want that was better than sex?”
“Prestige,” Sebastian replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “To win.”
“Win what?” Marnie asked in confusion.
“The wedding game. They want to win the wedding game.”
“What in the actual fuck is that?” Marnie dragged again on her cigarette. “I mean, the wedding game . I’ve never heard anything like it.”
“That’s because you’ve never played it,” Sebastian explained. “So, let’s take your soon-to-be daughter-in-law Sasha, yes? The one we’re absolutely not going to bitch about.” He winked at Marnie. “She wants a De León dress — which are the most exclusive designer wedding dresses money can buy — and Stella Snow to photograph her in it. Why do you think Sasha wants those things, darling?”
“Because they’re expensive,” Marnie shot back. “Just like you.”
“No.” Sebastian shook his head. “No. The expense is part of the exclusivity. If it wasn’t expensive, it wouldn’t be exclusive. No, Sasha doesn’t want these things because they’re expensive. And Sasha doesn’t want these things because they’re the best, because they’re not—”
“Aren’t you married to Luis De León?” Marnie asked. “Should you be saying things like that?”
“My Luis is sexy and talented . . . But he’s also a hack who got lucky. He knows it, and so do I.”
“Still, that’s somewhat harsh.”
“I make it up to him.” Sebastian paused. “And I am talking about sex this time, just in case you hadn’t—”
“Good, well, that’s fine,” Marnie interjected quickly. “It’s your marriage. I don’t need the details.” She cleared her throat. “So, let me understand you. You think Sasha wants what is perceived to be the best because it will help her win this wedding game?”
“Yes,” Sebastian nodded. “That’s exactly it. She wants to spend the rest of her life looking back on her prized wedding pictures and her designer wedding gown, knowing that she had the best wedding of all time. The prestige from just one day... a bride can feed off it forever.”
Marnie stared at him. His words sat like lead in her stomach, leaving her feeling vaguely queasy and unsettled.
“But a wedding should be what the couple make of it,” she offered weakly. “It should be about love. Not about having the best wedding ever. There’s no such thing as the best wedding ever.”
“My entire career hangs on the opposite being true. By the way, while we’re talking about the best wedding ever, I have this for you.”
Marnie watched as from within his robe Sebastian pulled a sheet of paper. He handed it to Marnie wordlessly, inhaling on his cigarette and blowing a thick plume of smoke into the night air.
“What is this?”
“I called Stella this evening while you were at the hospital,” he replied. “This is a list of her terms and conditions. Basically, she won’t take the job until you promise to supply everything in this contract.”
With a feeling of trepidation, Marnie began to read. “She retains the exclusive right to sell the photographs as she sees fit. She will retain copyright over all images, though the bride and groom may distribute them to their close friends and family as they see fit. A room must be provided to store sensitive photography equipment, which must be kept at a minimum temperature of twelve degrees Celsius and a maximum temperature of sixteen degrees Celsius. The gauge to measure the temperature of said room must be in Celsius as the photographer is not a New World peasant...” Marnie looked at Sebastian, scowling. “There are twenty-eight terms and conditions on this list, you know.”
“I do know,” Sebastian replied. “I’ve worked with Stella before. She’s a delight. A real fucking delight.”
Marnie carried on reading, until she came to clause twenty-three. She cleared her throat. “If the wedding dress is designed by Luis De León and or the wedding is planned by Queen and Country Weddings, the bridal party must provide the photographer with two boxes of Leibniz dark chocolate butter biscuits, kept at the same temperature standards as the photography equipment.” She stared at Sebastian in disbelief. “This is insane.”
“Yes, that’s an odd one, but it’s always in her contract for any wedding where Luis and I are involved,” Sebastian replied.
“Why does she want chocolate...” Marnie frowned, scanning back over the contract “. . . chocolate butter biscuits when you’re involved with the wedding?”
“Fucked if I know.”
“But haven’t you asked her? I mean, this is a crazy requirement. I don’t even know if I can get...” Marnie frowned again, scanning the document once more “. . . Leibniz dark chocolate butter biscuits.”
“If you want Stella, you’ll find the biscuits,” Sebastian warned.
“Aren’t you the wedding planner?”
Sebastian shrugged. “I’m better with people than the actual planning side of things. That’s Ari’s department.”
Ari. At the woman’s name, Marnie felt that earlier dart of anger returning. “I need another cigarette,” she muttered.
Sebastian grinned at her as he handed over his pack. “I have to say, darling, it’s so refreshing to smoke with a woman who treats her body like a chimney, as I do mine.”
“Do you call Ari ‘darling’?” Marnie asked suddenly, staring at him intently.
“Yes,” Sebastian replied. “Although in her case I say it truthfully. She is a darling.”
“What about Reine?” Saying her granddaughter’s name caused a sudden lump in her throat. “Do you call her darling too?”
“No,” Sebastian replied. “I call her sunshine, and that’s the truth. She is my sunshine. She’s my girl.”
“But she’s not your girl. She’s just your niece. She’s some... some other man’s girl.”
Sebastian sat back in his armchair, considering Marnie carefully for a moment. “You sound like Ari. She tells herself that lie too.”
“What lie? Reine does have a father.”
“Actually,” Sebastian said, his earlier easiness withdrawn, “she has two in fact. Me and my husband.”
“You aren’t her father. Luis isn’t her father,” Marnie argued, feeling a strong sense of loyalty to her son that overrode her current anger with him. “Her father is my — I mean, this other man.”
“Tom Miller,” Sebastian mused, lighting another cigarette and drawing on it, long and pensive. “A fictional name for a fictional character, wouldn’t you say?”
“You think Ari is lying?”
“No. I told you — Ari is a darling. I think Ari was lied to . I think this Tom Miller chap took my sister for a fool and left her high, dry and pregnant. Ari tells herself he’s coming back for her... she actually believes she hasn’t been abandoned. But she has. He left her, and he’s not coming back. Not ever.”
“What if he does?” Marnie asked quietly.
“Unlikely.” Sebastian shrugged. “But if he does, and he wants Reine, he’ll have a fucking fight on his hands.”
Abruptly, thankfulness crossed Marnie’s mind as she remembered that she’d already hired the services of a lawyer in New York who specialised in child custody battles. Andrew A. Andrews was the best in the business. She’d thought she’d be fighting Sasha, of course, but still. She was ready.
“Do you know what I remember the most when I think about Tom Miller?” Sebastian suddenly asked, and Marnie shook her head. “I remember when Ari was four months pregnant, poor as a church mouse and working as a cleaner. She was living in this filthy flat share in Brixton. She had nothing. Absolutely nothing. Luis and I tried to help, but she was determined to do it all herself. If Tom Miller couldn’t help her, no man was allowed to help her. Even me, her own brother.”
Momentarily, Marnie felt a flare of guilt, and another, much stronger flare of anger for Tom.
“One day,” Sebastian carried on, “Luis stays late at work on a dress, and she was crying her eyes out. She’d been for a scan, you see, and found out she was having a girl. What should have been a magical moment in her life was nothing but sadness to her, because this bloke, this Tom , had missed it.”
“Maybe he had his reasons for not—”
“No,” Sebastian snapped. “There’s not a single reason in the world good enough to miss something like that. There’s not a single reason in the world for leaving a girl like Ari in the position that he did.”
“You think so?” Marnie asked miserably.
“I wouldn’t let her leave after that night. Luis brought home dinner, determined to fatten her up—he’s a feeder, my Luis. He’s never had much success with me, because I like to keep my lines neat and clean, but with Ari, he found a willing victim. My God, if you ever saw that woman eat, you’d—”
“You wouldn’t let her leave?” Marnie interrupted.
“Well, we’d been planning on getting a cat, but in Ari we found the next best thing.”
Marnie paused. “I’m sorry, did you just say you were planning on getting a cat, but instead decided to take on a whole person?”
“Two,” Sebastian clarified cheerily. “She was pregnant.”
Marnie stared at him — Sebastian shrugged.
“Well,” he conceded, “I suppose it sounds bad when I say it like that , but Ari’s my sister. She’s something special. We held a mock baby shower on that first night. Luis designed an all-pink menu. Smoked salmon blinis followed by rare pink steak and then an unbaked strawberry cheesecake. Of course, she couldn’t actually eat any of the fucking stuff because of the baby, but still, she appreciated the effort. Luis has made it his life’s mission to feed her ever since.”
“So, how did she end up going from a cleaner to your business partner?” Marnie asked curiously, making mental notes for her lawyer.
“Because, you might not believe it, but under her miserable exterior and sordid life story, Ari’s quite the artist. She can take someone’s words and make them into a visual work of art. The brides love her. They can say, ‘oh, I quite fancy being married on a beach at sunset with candles flickering in the distance’ and Ari makes it happen. We were the perfect partners, in a way. Once she did her first wedding with me, she was hooked, and so Queen and Country Weddings was born. In Ari, I got a business partner, and from Ari, Luis got a guaranteed ticket into BarbieCon. Best thing for both of us.”
Marnie paused again, eyeing Sebastian warily. “I’m sorry,” she said slowly. “What do you mean, Luis got a guaranteed ticket to BarbieCon?”
“Oh,” Sebastian shrugged, “my husband collects Barbie dolls. He has around two thousand.”
Marnie’s eyes widened.
“Yeah,” he agreed, “it’s odd, but the heart wants what it wants, and his heart wants eleven and a half inches of hard vinyl.”
“Don’t we all,” Marnie remarked sardonically, taking a long puff on her cigarette. “So, how does Ari provide his ‘guaranteed ticket’ to BarbieCon?”
“Through Reine,” Sebastian explained. “You see, at certain parts of the expo, there are sections reserved for parents with children. Luis was never allowed in before, but with Reine...”
“So, let me get all this straight. You were going to get a cat, but you took on Ari, and you did so because she was good with visuals, and because she had a daughter that your husband could use to buy Barbie dolls?”
Sebastian stopped, seeming to consider Marnie’s words. “Well, when you say it like that, it sounds bad. But she’s also my sister, and we’re happy, the four of us. Things are good. And at the next BarbieCon in Japan, we’re going to take Reine to Tokyo Disney. It’ll be grand.”
Marnie stubbed out her cigarette, standing wearily. “Unless Reine’s father comes back.”
“He won’t.”
“You don’t know that.” Marnie suddenly felt exhausted, her earlier anger having mellowed out, both from the nicotine and a methodical plan coming to mind. “You know, one day my Tom might—”
“Your Tom?” Sebastian asked sharply. “Your son? What’s he got to do with this?”
Marnie paused for a beat too long, and she saw Sebastian’s eyes narrow. “Nothing,” she said breezily, trying to recover. “I was just thinking about him in the hospital. I should call him. Sasha said she was going in to sit with him, but she...” Marnie stopped. “I’m tired. I got mixed up.”
Sebastian’s eyes, bright and blue, rested on Marnie warningly. “It will be very interesting to meet your son,” he said. “I didn’t know he was a pilot until today. It wasn’t in the fact file Sasha compiled for us.”
“He’s not a pilot. Not professionally. It’s just a hobby. It was my husband’s hobby too. I call it the family curse,” Marnie explained hurriedly.
Sebastian eyed her. Marnie watched as he lit another cigarette, sitting back in his chair and taking a long drag on it. “Ari doesn’t talk much about Tom Miller, you know. But one thing she does talk about is the day she knew she loved him. It’s a sweet story, you should ask to hear it. They were on an airplane. Turns out Tom Miller was a pilot too.” Sebastian paused, exhaling smoke like a dragon in its lair. “Just like your son,” he added. “Just like your son.”
“Isn’t that a coincidence,” Marnie remarked.
“Yes. Isn’t it. How old is Tom?” Sebastian asked. “Did he ever spend time in Europe? Did he ever—”
“I’m going to bed,” Marnie announced. “You want to know about my son, check your damned fact file.”
“I’ll do that,” Sebastian replied evenly. “Right after I’ve called my husband.”
Marnie paused. “He’s on his way? With... with Reine?”
Sebastian nodded slowly. “They’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Good,” Marnie replied, before she could think twice. She watched as another look crossed Sebastian’s face.
“What was your name before you got married?” he asked, and she blinked in surprise.
“What?”
“What was your maiden name? You said your given name was French. What about your maiden name?”
Marnie paused. “I don’t see why that matters.”
“Humour me.”
She stared at him. “It was Millet,” she admitted reluctantly.
Sebastian’s eyes didn’t leave hers. He took another draw on his cigarette, exhaling into the cold night air. “You know, I’m starting to wonder if Luis bringing Reine here is such a good idea.”
“Why?” asked Marnie sharply.
There was a long pause. Sebastian was now as unwilling to give anything away as she was, Marnie realised.
“Oh, you know,” he finally replied. “Children and weddings and all that. They can get in the way.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Marnie said lightly. “I’ll have her room made up, ready for her in the morning.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Sebastian said, his face thoughtful. “You don’t need to, but I think you want to. And now I’m sitting here trying to work out why that might be.”
Marnie licked her lips. “Thanks for the cigarettes.”
He threw the rest of the pack at her. “Finish them. Luis hates smoking. He says they’re bad for me, and bad for Reine to be around.”
Marnie let the packet drop to the floor. “No, thanks. Your husband is right. They’re bad for Reine.”
* * *
When she wakes in the morning, Tom’s arms are still tight around her waist. She peels his hands from her body, and he mumbles in his sleep. She takes a shower before pulling on her now dry clothes, and when she returns to the room, he’s sitting up in bed, looking at her with soft eyes.
“Why Norway?” he asks. “Why are you headed there?”
She blushes. “Oh, I want to go to the National Gallery. That’s what I’m doing with this year... visiting all the great art museums of the world.”
“London didn’t have enough for you?” he asks wryly, and she grins.
“London doesn’t have The Scream .” She sits on the edge of the bed, suddenly nervous around him. “Um, it’s in Oslo. That’s where I’m going.”
A soft hand rests on her shoulder and she turns, meeting his eyes.
“Ari,” he says gently. “Don’t be frightened of me, okay?”
She blushes again, looking away from the chocolate depths of his eyes. “It’s just that, uh, I’ve never, um, done this kind of thing before.”
“The sex?” Tom asks, clearly confused.
“Well, no, I mean, I have done that, but not... not like this...” she stammers.
“Like what?”
“You know. A one-night stand.”
She hears a sigh issue from his lips, just as she feels his thumb trace her cheek. He tilts her chin up, so she’s forced to look him in the eye once more.
“You think this is a one-night stand?” he asks her, and she nods.
“Well, what else could it be?” she queries him. “I’m going to Oslo, and you’re going to...” She pauses. “Where are you going?”
“New York. That’s where I’m from. Well, this house upstate, it’s—” He stops, and clears his throat. “New York. That’s where I’m going.”
“Well, the airways are clear now,” Ari replies, more than a little sadly. “I just got a message from the airline. My flight leaves at 2p.m.”
“Mine leaves at four,” Tom says, and she thinks — or does she hope? — that the same sadness she feels also tinges his voice.
“We have the morning,” she says softly. “If you want, we have the morning.”
“I want,” he replies instantly. “I want very much.”
She blushes again. “More card games?”
“No,” he answers. “More magic.”
He pulls her back into his arms and kisses her softly. His eyes are soft, and his breath is warm and his lips are firm, and she could melt, right then and there, from all three of them.
“How am I going to say goodbye to you?” he whispers, and she isn’t sure if he’s asking the question of her, or of himself. “How do I do that, Ari?”
“I don’t know,” she whispers back, allowing herself to run a finger along his bottom lip. “But we don’t have a choice. It’s just something we have to do.”
“There’s always a choice,” he says, just before he kisses her once more. “And with you, I want to make the right one.”
* * *
They say goodbye in the departures lounge. As Ari boards the plane, she tries to stop the tears that have treacherously gathered in her eyes. She bites her lip, pushing her hand luggage into the overhead containers and trying to see reason.
It was just a one-night stand.
He was only ever going to be a fling.
He would just be a story she told.
It was never meant to be.
She sits in her seat, staring out of the window miserably, looking at the airport terminal and wondering where Tom is, where he’s sitting and what he’s doing.
Wondering if he’s already missing her the way she’s missing him.
It’s then that a voice sounds from above her, and she turns.
It’s Tom, and he’s sliding into the seat beside her.
“What?” she whispers. “How are you here?”
He smiles at her, before claiming her cheeks with his hands and kissing her passionately.
“Ari,” he says. “I told you. There’s always a choice. And you know something? I just made the right one.”