Chapter 44 #2
Eight minutes later, I’m staring at a mirrored session of her last clicks. CheapFlights. A one-way ticket to Bora Bora. There’s a confirmation screen. My heart stops, then sprints. She’s already on that flight, probably somewhere above the Pacific Ocean, putting miles between us.
“Send this to me,” I bark, and then soften my voice because that’s what Bea would want. “Please.”
The kid blinks a couple more times and nods.
Back in my office, I throw clothes from the spare cabinet I have stashed—looks like I’ll be traveling to Bora Bora in suits—into my duffel bag.
I put the Chanel back in the dust bag and carefully place it into the duffel bag too and head to Maeve’s floor, hoping she’s in the studio. If she’s not, I’ll have to steal the Executive. Either way will work.
Maeve is on a rolling stool with pins in her mouth when I barge into the studio. She clocks me in one glance—a duffel bag and face full of panic—and yanks the pins free.
“You look like the before photo of a man about to have a makeover and move to a small town,” she says, standing.
“I’m going after her.”
Her expression flickers through alarm, satisfaction, and fond exasperation in about half a second. “I’d be surprised if you weren’t. You bringing a carry-on full of guilt?” She nods at the bag in my hands.
I open the duffel and show her the Chanel peeking through the suits. “Her grandmother’s. I got it back.”
Maeve’s gaze snaps to the dust bag. “You did?”
“It’s hers. I—” My voice thins embarrassingly, so I clear it. “I should’ve stopped her from having to do it in the first place.”
She stares at me for a beat before she reaches under one of the garment bags by her side and unzips it with unnecessary drama. The jacket—the Executive—slides into view, with that impossible shade that makes people go quiet and listen.
“I think you’re here for this?”
“I’ll buy it.”
She shakes her head. “It has always been hers.”
I run my thumb over the stitching. “She’ll yell at me about rule one.”
“She made you rules?” Maeve laughs, shoving the hanger into my hands. “Noah?”
“Yeah?”
“If you screw this up, I’ll design a collection called King Loser and show it in Times Square.” Her eyes narrow. “And I’ll make sure everyone knows about the inspiration behind it.”
“Deal.” I nod.
“And when you find her, don’t do the whole ‘I need you’ speech. She needs to hear ‘I see you.’ Say sorry like it’s a sentence, not a preamble.”
I nod again. I’ve already started a list in my head that is only apologies.
“And one more thing,” Maeve says. “Our parents called me this morning.”
My spine goes rigid. “What? Why?”
Even I know the bastards never do, so there must be something they are after.
“They wanted us to show up at some golf event in Connecticut. Today of all days,” she says flatly. “As a united front, believe it or not.”
“Okay?” I’m still not sure how it’s connected to me.
“They told me to make sure that Bea will be there,” she accentuates every word, “because Larry Commerford will be there.”
The name doesn’t ring any bells, but Ezra is usually the one who socializes with people. I just build things.
“He is the one who was involved in the incident?” she suggests helpfully.
And at first, it doesn’t register. Until it does. A year ago, on the island, the Wrong mother mentioned that the society deemed Bea damaged after the incident. The incident where some dickwad Larry Commerford played a part. My blood runs cold.
“What did he do, Maeve?” I step closer to her, probably looking half crazed. “What did he do to her?”
Her brows draw together. “I don’t know exactly, but Bea said he was very handsy when our parents arranged their date.
They wanted them married and Bea off their hands, so they didn’t care what happened.
I was already away, so I wasn’t there.” Her neck moves with a swallow.
“I couldn’t protect her from him.” Her voice drops to a whisper.
“I was supposed to marry him first, Noah. That’s why I left.
It’s why I couldn’t stay there any longer.
I didn’t know they’d make her, Noah. I didn’t. She was only seventeen.”
My blood shifts from icy to hot by the time she’s done talking. “What did he do to her, Maeve?” My voice comes out as a growl.
“I don’t know. I really don’t,” she replies, looking lost. “But knowing Bea, I think he left with injuries. He spread rumors about her afterward, and that’s what caused a lot of damage. You know how our parents are about their appearances.”
“Do you think he—” I can’t finish because it’s painful to even think about.
“No,” she replies firmly.
I swallow the fear down. “How do you know? You said you don’t know what happened.”
“Because I asked. And she said it didn’t happen. And I know my sister enough to believe she was telling the truth.”
My heart starts beating again, and rage replaces fear. Rage directed at those who were supposed to protect her and at the dickhead who dared to touch Beatrice without her permission.
“Do you know what your mother wanted from her?”
A nod. “To ‘right her wrongs,’” she continues, making air quotes and keeping her eyes on my face. “They want them together again because he just got some reward from the state and he’ll be running for Senate.”
My nostrils flare as I’m trying to breathe through my nose because it should calm me down a bit and prevent—or at least delay—the murder.
I grab the duffel and garment bag containing the Executive. “Looks like I’m taking a detour.”