Chapter 1
ONE
SELENE
The giant, shimmering rock in the palm of my hand is heavy and meaningless. I turn it over several times, staring at it as though it isn’t a real, tangible object resting against my skin. Blinking, I’m convinced I’ll make it disappear, like some sort of na?ve, twisted magic trick.
Love can’t be trusted—a lesson I learned a decade ago.
While my life may be lacking faith in love, there’s one thing it certainly isn’t short of: death.
Death is real. It’s an aching fact we spend our entire lives pretending it isn’t coming for us, hunting us down. It’s the elephant in the room we pretend doesn’t exist.
From the moment we take our first breaths, death is humankind’s fate.
We’re all doomed to die one way or another, whether by natural causes or someone else’s hand.
Torturous? Peaceful? No one knows how they’ll leave this world.
Still, it doesn’t change one simple truth: no matter if it’s expected or not, death still catches you by surprise, dragging you into a spiral of pain and grief, no matter the circumstances.
When I think about my life, I suppose the same could be said about love. Love, like death, only brings heartbreak.
That’s where the similarities end, though.
Death is reliable, and love can’t be trusted.
After dropping the pale blue, gleaming stone from my palm, I dangle the long chain from the ends of my fingertips and trudge up the last flight of stairs leading to my apartment floor.
The stone swings like a pendulum, reminding me of the weight of its meaning.
Do the dead miss the living like the living miss the dead? Does it even matter in the end?
I will the dark cloud hanging over me to disappear, thankful to be out of that jewelry store and heading home.
“Strange, isn’t it?” my sister asks through the phone, tearing me from my thoughts.
“What is?” I hitch my purse higher on my shoulder and blow a loose strand of hair away from my face, but it flies back, shielding half my eye.
I jerk my head and fish my apartment key out of my purse, keeping my grandmother’s necklace tight in my grip and my phone pressed between my cheek and shoulder.
“That they can turn ashes into stone. It’s strange, right?” London’s voice quivers, and I imagine her shuddering at the thought.
“It’s not strange to me.” I frown. “I find it fascinating.”
“Of course you do. You’ve always been a romantic like that.”
“Me, a romantic?”
“Yeah, you know. You wear your heart on your sleeve. You’re the writer, expressing yourself through that book you spent nearly all your adulthood writing. You have a way with words, and everything you touch has meaning to you.”
I snort on that last part. “Not everything I touch has meaning to me, London.” My voice is softer than I intend. Fuck, maybe my sister is right. Maybe I’m not as mysterious as I think I am.
But I don’t agree with her about wearing my heart on my sleeve. If anything, I keep it well covered and protected.
Although London isn’t my sister by blood, sometimes I wonder if my parents secretly had her and accidently gave her up to the orphanage before they’d found her again and decided to adopt her back into the family.
Despite our closeness, though, we couldn’t be more different.
Where she is sleek, with rich black hair, pale grey eyes, and full lips I’m certain her fiancé West constantly reminds her how much he appreciates them daily, I have near platinum blonde hair, green eyes the color of swamp water, and lips half the fullness of my sister’s.
Despite our differences, sometimes I think London knows me better than I know myself. Except for the part where she says everything I touch has meaning. With that, she couldn’t be more wrong.
“You had Grandma’s ashes turned into a necklace so you could keep her with you, Selene.” Her tone is flat, no hint of judgment. “In my opinion, it’s a little strange. Also romantic in a weird, slightly morbid way, I guess.”
I know London is sad over our grandmother’s death, but neither of us are na?ve to how her death has hit me harder than her.
London has been through some shit in her life.
Aside from bouncing from foster home to foster home until our parents adopted her the day before her fourteenth birthday, she’d gotten into an accident that caused her to lose her memory.
She only recently regained it a few months back after reuniting with the love of her life, Weston Knight—the love she’d been forced to leave behind at the foster home.
He also happens to be in our friend circle, as well as being her ex-husband’s brother.
Oh, and there’s the teeny, tiny, minor detail of him being a billionaire.
Regardless, London is absolutely head over heels in love with West, and his obsession with her is enough to make even the most hardened of hearts jealous.
Or their stomachs sick with nausea.
With my key hovering in front of the deadbolt, I stare down at the gem in my hand.
Is it strange my grandmother’s ashes have been turned into a gem?
Maybe. It’s not like I kept a lock of her hair or anything and made it into something weird.
This is a necklace. A gorgeous one. I can’t help looking at the gleaming stone and admiring how something so dark and depressing can be turned into something beautiful.
Maybe London was right. Maybe I am a romantic.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin as if she’s standing in front of me instead of being on the other side of the city, speaking to me over the phone. “I think Grandma would have thought it was poetic.”
A few moments of silence pass before her heavy sigh hits my ear, laced with a nostalgic tone. “You know, sis, I think you’re right. She would have.”
“Thank you.” I smile softly, even though she can’t see it.
After sticking my key into the deadbolt lock, I turn it, ready to shed out of these sticky clothes and into something nice for tonight’s event, but my stomach flips, not feeling the lock’s usual resistance.
“Oh shit.” I groan under my breath.
“What?” London quickly catches on, the panic in her voice raising.
I drop my grandmother’s necklace into my purse and shift the phone to my hand. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“What?” she squeaks out. “Why?”
“I’ll see you tonight.”
I know exactly who is in my apartment without even opening the door. Still, I place my keys between my fingers to create a makeshift weapon, just in case. Even if it is who I think it is, and not an intruder, I’m likely to use them to stab him in the neck anyway.
“Selene, you can’t just say things like that and hang up—”
“Everything is fine. I’ll see you later tonight,” I insist, ignoring her plea yet again.
“Wait! Before you go, Julianna had your dress—”
I stab my thumb against the red button on the screen, cutting my sister off before giving her the chance to finish her sentence. I just want to get this over with.
Twisting the doorknob, I push the door open and find him sitting exactly where I expect him to be: slouched on the sofa, long legs spread apart, hands lazily draped between them. One hand is cupping his admittedly small bulge under his gray sweatpants.
Such a waste considering what gray sweatpants can do to a woman’s imagination.
My eyes rake over his whole body, and I somehow resist the urge to roll them dramatically when he turns his head in my direction, and his tired eyes find mine. His hair is disheveled and unkempt, and his five o’clock shadow has stayed well past its welcome.
“Hot water isn’t working again.” He raises his arm lazily, gesturing down the hallway.
“Great,” I mutter, dropping my purse on the end table near the front door. “Thanks for letting me know.” Brushing my hair off my face, I cross over to the kitchen and pour myself a fresh glass of water.
Adam watching me the entire time, burning a hole in my back and my brain.
My silence is deafening. I know it’s driving him crazy that I’m not giving him the sort of reaction he wants. The only reaction I have is wishing he was anywhere else but here in my apartment.
I swallow a huge gulp of water and finally eye him over my glass. He doesn’t move from his position, his admittedly pretty eyes still staring at me.
I place my glass on the counter and inhale a deep breath.
I guess we need to have a talk. Begrudgingly, I plant both my hands on the counter and straighten my arms, using them as an anchor.
I know Adam won’t leave willingly or easily.
If he was even the slightest bit considerate and understanding, he wouldn’t be here in the first place, taking up space in my apartment.
“Well?” His eyebrows rise. “You’re not going to say anything about the burst water pipe? I couldn’t take a shower, Selene.”
I scoff, taking in the acrid scent surrounding him and his overall greasy appearance settling in the small space of my tiny New York apartment. “Obviously.”
“Wow.” He tucks his chin in and shakes his head.
While pulling himself to a stand, he blows out a hot breath and angrily parks both his hands on his hips.
Chip crumbs tumble down his chest, falling to my floor, getting lost in the fibers of my living room carpet.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t insult my ego just then. It isn’t my fault I couldn’t shower.”
I stare at him with pinched brows, gripping the edge of the counter tighter. My broken pipes have nothing to do with his lack of cleanliness and self-care. It’s just him.