21. Weston
Weston
Before I went after her, I made one call.
I stood on the gravel with the gala humming behind me and watched her walk back toward the entrance, and I made myself wait the ninety seconds it took to call Ethan and say four sentences.
Adrian Reeve is holding a private debt over a woman connected to a Driftline principal.
I want his paperwork pulled and his co-investors aware by Monday.
He used a man's daughter as leverage and walked him out of my event like staff. He is done being quiet, and so am I.
Ethan didn't ask questions. He said he'd make the calls.
It won't put Reeve in a cell. Men like him don't go in cells; they go in rooms and come out with smaller rooms. But the only thing he had was a secret Monique was keeping for him, and she handed it to me on the gravel ten minutes ago, and now it's just information, and information I can move.
By spring his name comes off the documents.
He'll understand exactly why, and there will be nothing pleasant for him to say about it to anyone who matters.
That was the part I could do.
The part I couldn't do was the one walking away from me right now.
One moment, she's beside me, and the next, she's walking toward the gala entrance without looking back.
I stand on the pavement with my jacket in my hands, and I watch her go.
Don't let her disappear.
After some time, I run after her.
She’s nearly in her car when I catch up. I come up beside her and put my hand on her arm, and she slows.
"Monique."
She stops and turns. Her face is level and composed.
“I, uh…” I touch the back of my neck. "My parents would’ve liked you."
She goes still.
"I don't say that about anyone," I say. "My father would’ve put you straight to work on the coastal property and argued with you about the entrance orientation. He would’ve been completely delighted when you turned out to be right. My mother would’ve watched us in a room for five minutes and then found a way to get you alone and ask what your intentions were.
" I look at her. "They would’ve liked you.
I needed to say that before you got in the car. "
She looks at me. Her mouth opens slightly and closes.
"That's not — " she starts.
"I know it's not an argument. It's just true."
The gala behind us goes on doing what galas do. She stands before me in a dress that falls on her in the most perfect way.
"Stay," I say. "Please don't go."
She looks at me for a long moment.
Her eyes move across my face — slowly, her gaze settling on one place and then another. Her chin drops a fraction. Her hands are at her sides.
I step closer. “Please don’t leave me, Monique.”
No hesitation in it. She's standing in front of me, and I know that whatever this is between us is real enough to stand in front of.
I put my hands on her face and kiss her.
She kisses me back.
Her weight tips toward me by a fraction, and her hands come up to my chest. I feel all of it the way I feel everything about her, with my whole attention.
Then her hands stop pressing.
She pulls back, but I hold onto her and press my forehead against hers. “Please.”
Her eyes are bright. There's a slight tremor in her lower lip that she controls in about one second.
"I don't know who I am when I'm not surviving, Weston," she says.
"That's the truth I've been avoiding." Her voice is steady but only just. "Everything I've built has been shaped by running from something or adapting to someone or trying to become whatever the room needed me to be.
And even here, with you, I'm afraid — " She stops, presses her lips together, and starts again.
"I'm afraid I don’t deserve this beautiful life that you have. "
I open my mouth.
"I don't trust myself yet.” She stops again. “I don't trust my own read on what's mine versus what I've borrowed. I need to know that what I build is mine before I let it matter this much."
I look at her. My hands reach for her arms.
"But I love you," I say.
I can't hold it back anymore, and she needs to hear it, and I need to have said it.
She closes her eyes for one second. "Weston — "
"I love you, Monique," I say again.
"Stop," she says it gently. Her hand comes up and presses briefly against my chest. "Please stop."
I stop and gently cover her hands with mine.
She opens her eyes. "I love you too," she says. "I love you, but I'm leaving anyway, because loving you is the reason I've always had to make sure I'm not doing this wrong. What happened tonight was already embarrassing enough for me."
"It doesn’t matter," I say.
She looks at me. Her chin steadies. “But it matters to me, Weston.”
She holds my gaze for a moment longer and turns. She gets in her car, the engine turning over as she drives off.
I watch her go.
The car turns out of the drive, and the taillights disappear. I look at the place she was standing.
I put my jacket on and slide my hands into my pockets. I stand on the pavement, thinking about a harbor bench six years ago and a woman who left before I could ask her last name. Then eight months later, I found her again.
She'll come back.
I don't know if it's true. I’m holding onto the same fate that brought us back together all those years ago. I hope it doesn’t fail me this time.