Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I sat in the middle of my bed that night with my knees drawn to my chest, the silk of my nightgown pooling around me. I had my arms wrapped around my legs and my chin resting on top, staring out the window even though I could only see my reflection in the black. My dark hair hung over my one shoulder, but it only stretched down a smidge past my collarbones. If someone were to have stumbled into my hotel room, they would’ve thought a ghost sat atop of the bed instead of a young woman.
I suppose, really, I felt like a ghost. It was one of the pitfalls of living in the hotel, the loneliness. Surrounded by people at all times, but ones I’d never interact with. Ones who didn’t know I existed. Except for one.
Sumner was on the other side of the wall, but I couldn’t hear him. I wondered if he was asleep.
Airport traffic was hell, which meant my father and I hadn’t gotten back to the estate until a little after five. My mother, who’d stayed back at the country club due to a meeting, told me that Sumner had driven Nancy home before working a short shift in the pool area. I hadn’t sought him out once I returned, needing to decompress.
I’d known going into the drive that I liked Vivienne Astor, but I came out of it loving her. She had such a warm and endearing sort of personality; like Sumner, the way she spoke left me feeling seen. She’d asked me about college, about my hobbies, about my likes and dislikes. The attention had been fully on me as we chatted in the backseat of my father’s car. And when she’d finished asking me questions, it was my turn to ask a few of my own—about her son.
“He’s insecure,” she’d told me. “Almost to a detriment. His brothers are a bit older than him, and seeing them achieve big things has left him nervous to branch out, I think. He’s very good at keeping it to himself, but he never puts himself out there. That’s why, I think, he’s so nervous to meet you. It’s sweet, really. Or, well, I think so—I am his mother, after all.” She’d laughed then.
Insecure. Nervous. They weren’t words I’d ever associated with Aaron Astor before. Arrogant had been one, uncaring another. I’d asked her then what had him so smitten with me, if she knew.
Vivienne had lowered her voice and shifted closer in her seat to me. “He was feeling quite shy at the event, and wanted to escape to get some fresh air, but saw you out on the balcony,” she’d replied, a lovely smile on her face. “The way he describes it… You were standing in a corner by yourself, and he said he couldn’t stop thinking about you since.”
I couldn’t help but think how lonely you looked , Sumner had told me once upon a time. That’s why I’m being nice. Because I know what it’s like to feel alone in a room full of people.
I fell back on my bed and stared up at the ceiling, seeing shapes in the plaster. A useless thought. A childish one. Him and his stupid boyish smiles and endless positivity. His ridiculous ways of comfort and attempts at amusement. Him and his stupid mouth. I wasn’t sure I’d ever in my life thought twice about someone like this, but then again, had I ever been close to someone like this before? Destelle, maybe, but I’d never even held her hand. I’d definitely never kissed her.
I curled my hand into a fist, attempting to banish thoughts of his hand on mine. The thought of his mouth?—
Useless.
I sat up and grabbed my phone from my bed, loading up a social media site. Sumner had to be a unique enough name that I’d easily be able to find it, right? Except when the search loaded, I was met with a few women named Sumner, a few profiles with no picture, or profiles that didn’t belong to the man sleeping next door. I tried a different app, but again ended up with nothing.
In the age where everything was online, how was it that the only two men in my life didn’t have profiles I could stalk?
Three knocks on my hotel room door pulled me from the depths of my spiral, along with a soft voice through the wall. “Room service.”
“Finally,” I all but exclaimed. Pushing up from my bed, I shoved my feet into my slippers and stalked across the room. Most of the lights in my hotel room were off save for the lamp near my bed, and it threw odd shadows on the walls. “Nearly an hour for a bottle of wine.” With that, I hauled the door open.
A staff member stood outside with a cart that held the chilling bottle of wine, and he greeted me with the signature Massey Suites smile. He must’ve heard my muttered remark through the door, because he replied, “We didn’t have what you requested in stock, Miss Margot, so we had someone run to the store.”
I peered closer at the label on the wine. “I didn’t ask anyone to make a special trip.”
He had his shoulders hunched like he was afraid of a scolding. “Only the best for our best.”
I actually cringed at the motto.
The door to Sumner’s hotel room ripped inward, much like it had the very first time I’d discovered him to be my neighbor, but this time, it only startled the staff member. Sumner stumbled into the hall in his bare feet, as if ready to catch me sneaking from my room, but halted at the sight of the room service deliverer and their cart.
“You weren’t sleeping?” I asked him in mild surprise. It was clear that he’d planned on it soon. He wore navy pajama bottoms and a loose-fitting gray T-shirt. His golden hair was loose in waves over his forehead, eyes bright.
I became aware of my attire, and all the bared skin on display. There was no time, no chance, to cover it up this time.
Sumner didn’t focus on me, though. He zeroed in on the staff with immediate suspicion. “What’s this?”
“He’s delivering wine, clearly.”
“At eleven o’clock at night?”
The man butted back in, “We deliver whenever someone orders it.”
“Helpful, thank you,” Sumner muttered, and turned to me with his eyebrows raised.
I, however, was no longer willing to continue the conversation in the hall. I stepped out of the path of the door and held it open. “Into the living room, please,” I told the staff.
Sumner immediately laid his hand on the service cart, refusing to allow it to move even an inch. “She doesn’t need you to bring it in,” he said. “Having a man in your room is exactly what your parents are against.”
“He’s a staff member.”
“So was I when you kissed me.”
The man, after a moment of deliberation, seemed to decide it was in his best interests to abandon the cart. “H-Have a good evening.” With a little bow, he excused himself, and Sumner turned back to me.
I leaned my hip against the door. “You scared him off.”
It was almost as if Sumner didn’t notice what I wore until that exact moment. The vintage inspired piece was nothing scandalous by any means. The silk gown was white, but perfectly opaque. The top was lower cut, but not so much that cleavage was visible. The lace hem fell just below my knees, and the sleeves were long, cinched at my wrists. Not anything scandalous at all.
And yet Sumner looked sharply away, as if he’d seen a plethora of my skin and not the silk material. “What—what are you wearing?”
“Pajamas.”
“It’s—it’s a dress .”
I tilted my head to see him clearer. Even though he turned his face away, I could see a flush to his cheeks. “More specifically, it’s a nightgown.”
“You don’t wear dresses.”
I stepped back out of the doorway. “Come in and we can argue about my clothing attire over a glass of wine. Or at least out of the hallway.”
He was hesitant, but ultimately complied. The dark room cast a strange mood as Sumner steered the cart deeper in, coming to a pause near the sofa. “I can’t stay,” he said as I shut the door. “I’m not staying.”
“Doth protest too much,” I quipped as I walked up to him, picking the bottle of wine from the chiller. I offered the bottle out to Sumner, expression expectant.
He picked up the wine opener and began attempting to uncork the bottle. He twisted the spiral into the cork, but struggled to pull it out, working the wine opener back and forth. He looked like a little kid trying—and failing. I watched him through it all, fighting a smile.
“You’re probably the worst waiter I’ve seen,” I said as a minute ticked by.
Sumner still fought to uncork the wine. “I’ll get it.”
“Here, give it, I’ll do it.”
“I’ve—” Sumner finally ripped the cork from the bottle with a small pop, a victorious smile working over his lips. “—got it.” He flipped one of the glasses over, but before he began to pour, I grabbed his wrist.
“One glass,” I said, attempting to persuade him. “You don’t have to drink. Just sit with me for one glass.”
Sumner’s eyes skirted around my living area. “I don’t think that’s?—”
“I was thinking to myself how lonely I was, and then you came out into the hall. Coincidence?” I attempted to give him a sort of puppy dog look of my own underneath my lashes. “Fate, isn’t it?”
He regarded me and my neediness with a tired sort of amusement. “Fate,” he echoed with a soft scoff. “Sit. I’ll pour you a glass—a small one , because I can’t be long. It’s not… appropriate.”
Appropriate. Psh . It was my turn, though, to don a triumphant smile. I sat down on the edge of the settee in the living area and crossed my legs, watching as he poured the sweet wine into its glass. This movement, though, was expert, not a quiver to his grip. Didn’t know how to open a bottle of wine, but knew how to pour it. Interesting.
“Any reason for wine on a random Wednesday night?” Sumner asked as he passed me the glass.
I peered at the pinky-colored liquid, taking a whiff. I relished in the peachy scent, my tongue anticipating the first sip. “I already said.”
“Because you were lonely?” Sumner moved to sit on the couch across from me, stiff at first. He stretched his pajama-clad legs out in front of him, underneath the glass coffee table. “Terrible reason to be drinking.”
“Are there any good reasons?”
“Touché.” He watched as I touched the glass to my lips, sloping it back to have my first drink. Divine . “If you’re so lonely here, why don’t you move back home? With your parents?”
“It was more suitable for all of us if I were to stay here,” I said dismissively. “I supposed I’d be lonely at home as well.” Perhaps lonelier, knowing my parents were a few rooms away but unwilling to visit. I raised my glass to my lips, peering at Sumner over the rim. “At least here I can order room service.”
He looked at the room service cart in question. “True.”
Sumner was only in the living room of the suite—I even had the door leading to my bedroom closed—but having him in here introduced a strange tone that hung between us. I’d ordered the wine to help me fall asleep, but his presence in a room no one had stepped in except for housekeeping left me wide awake. A shot of espresso, a second wind. I tried to remember if I’d ever felt this way when Destelle was around, but it was different.
Sumner nodded his chin at me. “You’re drinking too slow.”
“I’m savoring it,” I replied, tilting my glass. “One does not chug wine, Sumner Pennington.”
He let out a small breath through his nose, another scoffing sort of chuckle, as he leaned back further into the couch. It was strange to see him in his pajamas; he no doubt thought the same about me. That this was some personal gap we’d bridged together. It was small, but it felt significant… intimate.
“You didn’t come back to tea,” Sumner pointed out after a moment. “Your mother came and told us. Nancy was worried you’d gotten kidnapped. ”
“Oh, I went willingly. We drove Vivienne Astor to the airport.” I sipped at my wine again as I studied him, my thoughts going back to the merry-go-round of the Aaron Astor train track, and I decided to test those murky waters. “She’s how I want to be when I’m older. Sophisticated, but still down to earth. I never expected it from her.”
“What did you expect?”
“Snotty. Stuck-up. Entitled. Really, pick any woman from the country club and use them as a model. Use my mother as an example, if you want.”
“That’s good, then,” Sumner said. “That your future mother-in-law is nice.”
I still couldn’t get a good read on him. I picked another angle. “Did I tell you Aaron Astor emailed me?”
“He did?” Sumner sounded surprised enough, somewhat curious. Nothing off-putting. “What’d he say?”
“He felt bad for having to cancel our virtual meeting, but he wants to talk more over email until he comes into town for the wedding. Interesting that he’s ready for conversation now, isn’t it?” After I had told you that I wished we could’ve talked more .
If Sumner picked up on my insinuation, he didn’t make it clear. “Isn’t it a good thing?”
“Of course. I am going to be meeting him in two weeks when he comes for the wedding. Maybe I can coerce him into sending a picture of himself. Of his hands, even.”
“His hands ?”
“I’ve recently discovered I’m a hands girl.”
Sumner’s gaze dipped a little to my wine glass. “No way you’re already tipsy from that small pour.”
I ignored him. “You have nice hands,” I mused, looking down into the depths of the peach. One more sip and it’d be gone; one more sip and so would he. “I noticed that the other day, on the golf course. Very lovely hands, indeed.”
Very lovely hands, with slim, long fingers that had wrapped so easily around my own.
“As far as compliments go, I think that’s the strangest one I’ve gotten. Even Nancy saying my tush looked squishable was more normal.”
“I’d argue me liking your hands is far more appropriate than talking about your butt.”
“Yeah, I guess as far as things go, I’d rather you check out the former than the latter.” Sumner spread his palms before him, studying his fingertips. I could practically see the question on his face. Do I have nice hands?
I rose from the couch and walked around the coffee table, pausing just before him. “Admit it,” I mused, swirling the final drops of wine in my glass. “Following around a rich girl isn’t half as bad as you thought it’d be.”
Sumner didn’t look intimidated by my sudden proximity; in fact, an unfamiliar emotion bloomed in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Why not? Is it not true?”
“No. It’s not.”
“I’m not rich? Or, when you said it, did you not mean rich? Did you mean to say spoiled ?” I took a theatrical look around my grand hotel room. A few lamps were on, giving a glimpse of its illustrious wallpaper and the sleek fixtures. “Is a penthouse suite not a sign someone is spoiled?”
“Placated. You’re being placated by it. Even I can see that.”
Placated. I felt my brow crease. His own expression was just so… compassionate , and in that moment, it irked me. I took a half step closer to grow more imposing, the toe of my slipper brushing his. “Will you stop?” I demanded, glaring down above him. “Stop looking at me with your ‘poor little bird’ eyes. Why do you look at me that way? I’m not someone to look down on.”
“I’m not looking down on you, Margot,” Sumner insisted. It was ironic, given the fact that he had to tilt his head back to meet my stare. “You live in a penthouse suite, yes, but you don’t want to. You said yourself, you’re lonely here.”
“So what?” My voice was flat. “I have everything I could ever want. Clothes, cars, a future paved in a golden path. Am I lonely here? Does it matter? Being alone is a choice,” I echoed Nancy’s words, “and I’ve chosen it. I’d much rather be alone than surrounded by a million people speaking a language I’ll never understand.”
Things were always a give and take with Sumner. When he was there, I enjoyed his company. It was when he stared a bit closer, when he attempted to peel back the layers I very much so enjoyed leaving sealed, that I was ready to throw him away like a child growing bored with a toy. I wanted him as a distraction, not as my therapist.
I tipped my glass back and drained the remainder of the wine, the punch of peach causing my throat to ache as I swallowed. “You can leave now.”
Sumner caught my wrist before I could take a full step away from him. He sat up on the couch, but didn’t rise. “Margot.”
“I can think of myself as the most pitiful person in the world, but I refuse to allow anyone else to even consider it.” I looked down at him, pulse fluttering. “Especially not you, Mr. Pennington.”
As I wrenched my hand out of his grip, the open back of my slipper caught on the leg of the coffee table, and I tripped over it. Quite the opposite of the calm and collected image I’d tried to portray, I nearly tumbled back onto the coffee table itself, which would’ve caused the glass to shatter, but Sumner grabbed my wrist again and pulled me back forward. Too hard. My knee crashed against his as I tried to find my balance again, which sent me stumbling—oh-so gracefully—into Sumner’s lap.
All at once, everything stilled. One of my hands had curved over Sumner’s shoulder, steadying my fall. Sumner’s hand still gripped my wrist, the one that held my wine glass, and his other braced against my waist. The fabric of my nightgown bunched under his touch, exposing the bottom of my thigh as my knee dug into the couch on the other side of his hip.
The position was accidental, but undeniably intimate, our faces only inches apart.
My heart had fluttered before, but it completely stopped now.
Sumner didn’t breathe underneath me. His gaze didn’t stray from my eyes, either, locked on as if they were his lifeline. And his were so, so pretty. Up close, I once more got a full view of his deep brown lashes, of his trail of freckles underneath his right eye. I wanted to trace them with my fingertip. His irises were blue, but they looked so dark now, almost as if the pupil had bled into the color.
Almost imperceptibly, his hand squeezed my hip. “I don’t—” Sumner drew in a shaky breath. “I don’t find you pitiful.” His voice was a whisper.
I should’ve climbed off him then, but instead, my grip tightened on his shoulder. I brought my other hand down his fingers braceleting my wrist, lowering with it, as I set the empty wine glass on the cushion beside us. “Then how do you feel about me?” I asked in a low voice, never breaking eye contact. I didn’t want to miss even a fraction of a moment in his expression.
Summer, of course, didn’t answer, but I hadn’t been expecting him to. I hadn’t wanted him to. I’d asked the question, but I had a sudden and intense fear of hearing the answer either way.
In a slow movement, I lifted the tip of my finger to trace the freckles underneath his eye with a delicate touch. Sumner didn’t even flinch, but held perfectly still, almost statuesque. His hand hung off mine almost heavily, but my touch was steady. My fingertip trailed from the freckles over the curve of his cheekbone, finding its path all the way down to the top of his cupid’s bow.
Once more, my thoughts traveled back to the night that I’d kissed him in the ballroom. I hadn’t been paying enough attention then, hadn’t memorized the sensation enough. A greedy need rose within me now, the faint drops of wine I’d sipped spurring it on. Sumner’s lashes fluttered as I shifted forward in his lap, ready to find out just what would happen if I were to kiss him again.
I waited, but just like the time before, Sumner did not push me away now. He watched me loom closer, closer?—
A sudden, hard knock on my hotel room door caused us both to jump a second before our lips met. Sumner’s hand spasmed on my hip before I tumbled from his lap, my feet barely getting underneath me on the floor. We both turned toward the door, but we didn’t have to wonder for long. “Open up, Margot.” My father’s voice was a clear call.
It was after eleven. It was a bad sign. A very bad sign.
Now it was my turn to grab Sumner’s wrist, hauling him to his feet. “Go into my bedroom,” I ordered in a rushed whisper.
His eyes widened. “Your bedroom?—”
I slapped a hand over his mouth, because even though this was a penthouse, I was afraid the walls were still thin. Thankfully, Sumner didn’t fight me as I tugged open my bedroom door and shoved him inside. Without wasting time, I snapped the door shut.
“Margot.” My father knocked again, harder this time. “I know you just had room service delivered, so I know you’re up. Open the door.”
I scanned the living area, but there were no traces of Sumner Pennington left. My empty wine glass still sat on the couch, though tipped over due to our movements. Nothing suspicious.
Even though he’d announced his presence, I looked through the peephole to find my father. He wore the same clothes from when we’d taken Vivienne to the airport, though he didn’t have his suit jacket now, and his tie was loose at his collar. The sight was unsettling, almost to where I didn’t unlatch the door.
I did, though, because there was no true alternative. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked my father as he stumbled inside, barely a second after I had the door open. As he passed by me, I caught a strong whiff of brandy. Another bad sign.
My father looked out of place in my hotel room. In the shadows of the room, he was a monstrous figure, one that brought nothing but bad feelings.
“Wine?” he asked as he peered at the cart. He was clearly displeased with it, which was ironic, given the slur of his own speech. “Did you have another person in here?”
I did not look in the direction of my closed bedroom door. “No.”
“There are two glasses.”
“One is untouched, as you see. Room service just brought me up two.”
My father turned and stared me down, and it was then that I got a full view of just how unsettled he looked up close. A hollowness clung to his eyes, leeching the skin underneath, accompanied by something like desperation. It made him look older than his sixty-one years, like that monstrous figure slowly morphed into a pitiful old man. “Margot, tell it to me straight—you’ll be a good girl about this, won’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“What can I give you?” My father brought his palm down on the cart as if to catch his balance. The wine bottle and the remaining glass trembled, but nothing fell. “Do you want a check? A new car? I can give you that. A house of your own, so you don’t have to live at the hotel? Be a good girl about this, and I’ll buy you whatever you want.”
Bribery—my parents hadn’t resorted to it since the mention of Aaron. Guilt tripping and manipulation, yes, but never bribery. “What makes you think I want anything?”
“Everyone wants something,” he said with his head still bowed, speaking to the wine glass. “These past few years, it’s like we stalled out, Margot. Like we’ve hit a plateau with growing as an empire. But this deal with the Astors—can you picture it? How much grander things will be? How much more room we’ll have to breathe ?”
My father spoke as if I knew about the business side of Massey Suites. I didn’t. Despite being his only heir, he never shared any business talk with me, most likely because he never intended to allow me to take it over.
“You’ve had it so easy, so good,” he went on. “And this one thing that I ask of you—this one thing —you just make it so difficult.”
“I thought I did a good job with Mrs. Astor in the car today.”
“I’m talking about insulting your mother’s friends, kissing that waiter boy, spilling your drink on Vivienne. I find you a good, suitable match, and you’re doing everything to get rid of him?”
I’d never seen my father like this before. He drank, and drank often, but he never drank enough to lose control of propriety. My father was a tougher one to navigate in general, but with alcohol in him—enough to trip his steps—I didn’t know how to respond. An unsettling weight rolled onto my chest. “Suitable for you ,” I murmured, keeping my voice even. “Suitable enough to deepen your pockets.”
My father traced his fingertip over the base of the glass I hadn’t touched, still leaning on the cart. “Your mother told me that it was Ally Jennings who was responsible for Vivienne Astor’s suit being ruined,” he began, the turn of the conversation one I barely followed. “That it was Ally was being billed the ten thousand dollars for Mrs. Astor’s suit. But it was your fault?”
I thought of the conversation with Vivienne earlier this morning, of my father’s hand at my back. I quickly tried to figure out how to navigate the situation. “I’ll pay for it.”
“You’ll pay for it?” he echoed, and now, the soft demeanor of his voice was gone. A harshness began seeping through. “With what money? With my money, you mean? Just like you buy all your clothes with my money .”
I had to think of the right thing to say to appease him, but I came up with no rebuttal. Discreetly, I took a glance over my shoulder to make sure that the bedroom door was still closed. I was all too aware of Sumner in the next room. The door remained shut, and my father’s voice was still quiet, so perhaps Sumner couldn’t hear.
“I refuse to do this song and dance with you, Margot,” my father said. “My patience has reached its peak for your spitefulness. You will behave, or it will be over.”
Horror and embarrassment were two separate threads in a braid, weaving together in a noose around my neck. I fought the urge to swallow hard. “Ominous,” I said as lightly as I could. “You’ve been watching too many action movies.”
It was the wrong thing to say. My father, a man who rarely raised his voice, was a dangerous creature now with enough brandy in him to stink his breath. I should’ve thought of that. I should’ve calculated that, but I didn’t.
He picked up the empty wine glass and dashed it to the floor in front of my feet. It shattered apart with a scream, shards scraping across the exposed skin of my ankles, and, on instinct, my arms rose to cover my face.
“Everything is a joke to you,” he said through clenched teeth, crossing the room in brisk steps. Glass crunched underneath his Hefman I was too afraid to take a step. I couldn’t help but check the distance that still stretched between us. “Will it be a joke when you have no place to go? No one in your life? Do you want to be alone?”
“I’ve been alone my entire life,” I returned with a steely gaze of my own, gritting my teeth. “And I will be alone, even if I do what you want and marry someone I don’t know. Don’t pretend you care when we both know you don’t.”
My father suddenly wrapped his hands around my upper arms and squeezed. Tightly. So tightly that I scrunched my shoulders against the grip, attempting to lessen the force. I tried to stay silent, but a gasp slipped through. “It isn’t just your dignity you’re throwing in the trash, you know. Mine, your mother’s, Aaron’s—you’re bringing down everyone who associates themselves with you.” His eyes were wide, glassy, and almost crazed. “That is why no one does. Why Destelle even left you behind. Kissing the waiter boy, spilling your drink on the most influential person Alderton-Du Ponte has had in its walls. You’re not just embarrassing yourself, Margot, but everyone around you. You’re right, I don’t care that you’re alone. You’ve done it to yourself.”
It was clear my father and my mother were both cut from the same cloth. My mother, who grabbed my chin thinking it’d get me to straighten up. My father, gripping my arms, thinking I’d bow into submission. They never learned that it didn’t work with me.
“You act as if you’ve ever said no to this marriage,” he ranted on. “As if you wouldn’t benefit at all from this marriage. Once you’re married, once we join hands with the Astors, we’ll have everything we could ever want.”
The pressure in my throat was almost too tight to speak around. “Sure, because it’s only my happiness that’s the sacrifice you’ll make.”
My father looked at me strangely, as if this was the first time he was being confronted with the plain and simple words. I don’t want to . He looked like such a stranger at that moment, and I wondered if he thought the same of me. He gripped me, but it was like neither of us knew each other. “Happiness,” he echoed. “It’s subjective. You won’t be happy marrying Aaron, but you won’t be happy being disowned either, would you?”
My father released me, and I swayed from the withdrawal almost as if a breeze in the room threatened to knock me over. He and my mother could grab me, hit me, bruise me, and none of it would hurt more than the way their words were expertly designed to cut. I stared up at him still, but my vision blurred, the specific features of his expression warping.
“I know you know the pros outweigh the cons,” my father said, almost softly now. The brandy on his breath choked me as he leaned in. “Think about what you want, Margot. Be a good girl about this.” He patted my head, and with that, he crunched over the glass to step away.
For a long moment, there was nothing. No ache in my arms, no thoughts in my head—nothing but the compressing numbness that seemed to grow tighter and tighter around my rib cage. The nothingness yawned like a black hole inside me, consuming everything, tugging it all into its depths.
Something small in me snapped, like a rubber band splitting. That was the feeling; a thousand rubber bands squeezing my insides, holding me together. Another snapped, bringing a flicker of pain through the blissful deadness.
When my hotel room door fell shut, that was when I heard my bedroom door creak open, the slight sound just enough to pull me back from the edge. I looked down at the floor, at the shards all around me, sparkling on the floor near my white slippers. Facing Sumner was the last thing I wanted to do. It was one thing to tell him not to pity me when I’d been able to keep everything at bay. Now, with my fa?ade in ruins at my feet, there was no keeping it hidden.
I waited for Sumner’s touch, his hand on my shoulder, his fingers brushing my palm, something —but it didn’t come. Instead, Sumner walked past me and moved to where the phone sat on the credenza by the sofa, picking up the receiver and pressing a button. I watched numbly, wondering, in a distant way, if he was about to call the police. “Hi,” he said into the phone, turning to look at me. His eyes were profoundly sad. “I’m calling from the penthouse suite. I know it’s a bit late, but can we have housekeeping come up, please?”