Chapter 57
FIFTY-SEVEN
Iknow Dean is gone before I even open my eyes. Still, I lay here and listen for him anyway. The shower running. Maybe the TV in the living room. Something to tell me that he didn’t leave me again.
Nothing.
I don’t hear a thing.
Opening my eyes, all I see is the empty bed next to me.
Sitting up, I look around the room. His clothes are gone.
Mine are picked up—my dress hanging carefully over the back of the chair.
My shoes perched on top of it. Next to them is a shopping bag from one of the boutiques downstairs.
Reaching for it, I look inside to find a pretty summer dress—something I’d see in a store window and love but would never have the nerve to buy, let alone actually wear.
Along with the dress, I find undergarments and a pair of strappy sandals to round out my new outfit.
Dumping it all out onto the bed in front of me, I find a brand new cell phone, identical to mine and still in the box. Attached to it is a note card.
Mills~
This isn’t me leaving. I meant what I said last night.
I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. Whatever you want, whatever it looks like—I’m here.
I love you. I know that you know that. I know that you know I’m telling you the truth when I say it—just like I know that you’ll never admit it.
Not even to yourself… but the truth—the real, ugly, fucked-up truth—is that I don’t care.
I’ll spend the rest of my life fighting for you, even if the person I have to fight is you.
Dean
Refolding the note, I set it carefully on top of the pile of clothes he left for me because he knew I’d be embarrassed about walking out of here in the same clothes I wore last night.
That if someone saw me, recognized me, it would set off another whirlwind of rumors and speculation and even if he doesn’t care about that, I do.
Letting out a long, shaky sigh, I start to move toward the side of the bed so I can get up, get dressed and get back to New York.
Reaching for my phone to call the pilot we keep on standby, I end up picking something else up instead.
The watch I gave Dean. The one I bought for Allister.
It was meant to be a wedding gift, given to my husband on our honeymoon.
Instead, I gave it to Dean on impulse. A hasty gift shoved in his direction in the hopes that maybe I was buying something with it in return.
Peace.
That’s what I told him it was.
A peace offering.
That’s what I told myself that’s what it was but it wasn’t.
Not really.
I think I was just trying to get him to like me.
Buy his approval.
Turning it over in my hand, I can see the date I’d had engraved on the back plate.
6/11/22
He never had it replaced.
Smoothing my thumb over the back of it, I feel myself startle when there’s a loud knock on the front door of the suite, the hard rap of it echoing through the silent space.
Turning the watch over, I see the time.
It’s after noon.
Shit.
Knowing that check-out is at eleven o’clock, I throw myself out of bed and hurry to the bathroom to grab one of the complimentary robes off its hook.
Scrambling into it on my way across the room, I rush into the living room on another round of knocks.
Barely giving myself time to tie the belt before I’m reaching for the doorknob, I pull it open, an apology already starting to fumble its way out of my mouth because I’m sure it’s the hotel manager, asking me if everything is okay and if I plan on staying another day.
It’s not the hotel manager or even one of the Gilroys, telling me it’s time to leave.
It’s Gwen.
Standing here, staring at her, mouth open while I struggle to form words, my little sister doesn’t give me any time to ask her what she’s doing here.
“What’s going on between you and Dean Mercer?
” she demands, hands on her hips while she glares at me like I’m a dirty, rotten traitor.
“And don’t say nothing. Don’t—just don’t, okay—because we both know it’s something and—” Stopping, mid-rant, Gwen looks at me.
Really looks at me. “Ohmygod—” Taking in my disheveled hair, what I’m sure is a ridiculous case of raccoon eyes, and lack of clothing, her eyes go round while her mouth drops open.
The combination makes her look like a kid who’s just been told that Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy are all very much real and have invited her to tea.
“Is he here?” Pushing up onto her tiptoes, Gwen cranes her neck to try to see into the suite behind me. “Is he here? Is Dean—”
Reaching for her on a sigh, I close my hand around her arm and pull her into the suite before she can really start in because even though the Gilroys reserved the entire floor, that doesn’t mean there aren’t hotel staff lurking around.
The Hawthorne is known for its discretion, but gossip has a way of traveling.
Moving to close the door behind us both, I see another note. This one stuck to the front of it.
Millie ~
I let Nat know downstairs that you were in need of a late check out. No need to rush. Take all the time you need. It was nice to see you again.
Henley
Her husband is right. She does have nice penmanship. I guess if Conner Gilroy is Dean’s fairy godmother, then Henley Gilroy is mine.
“Hello?” Looking up from the note, I find Gwen standing in the sitting area, a few feet away, hands stacked on her hips again, glaring at me the way she used to when she was little and someone had the audacity to tell her no.
“I’m dying here, Millie. I’m dying because you told me there was nothing going on between you and Dean and that it was no big deal and then I see the video and it’s obvious you’re a big, fat liar so I—”
“Video?” Folding the note, I stuff it into the pocket of my robe.
“What video?” There are plenty of them floating around.
The video of Dean putting my anklet on in the resort lobby on Hawthorne Cay.
Videos of us cuddling by the pool. Of us kissing on the beach.
Someone even filmed the outside of the cabana the day Dean came after me—you can’t see anything and thankfully you can’t hear much more.
But those are all videos Gwen has seen a million times and nothing that would drive her to fly all the way to Boston to confront me on a Saturday afternoon.
She looks at me for a moment like she’s trying to decide if I’m just playing dumb or if I actually am as clueless as I’m pretending to be.
“Wow… okay.” Giving me a nod, she looks at the set of double doors that lead to the bedroom.
“Is Dean here?” she asks, dropping her voice like she’s just realized how crazy and loud she’s being.
“Did he spend the night? Is he still sleeping?”
“No,” I answer her, choosing my words carefully. “Why would Dean be here?”
Giving me a long, heavy sigh, she rolls her eyes before she sits down. “Okay—I can’t take the lies by omission on an empty stomach. I’m going to order room service while you go get dressed. After that, you better be ready to spill.”
When I come out of the bedroom thirty minutes later, dressed and as put together as I’m going to get with the toothbrush Dean left for me and the toiletries provided by the hotel, I find Gwen stuffing her face in front of a full spread brunch, spanning several room service carts.
“Jeez” I say, making my way across the room while I take in the obscene amount of food. “Are you sure you ordered enough?”
Looking up, my sister narrows her gaze on me while she watches me sit down across from her.
“This?” Lifting her hand, she waves it at the caravan of room service carts we’re surrounded by.
“I didn’t order this—Mr. Mercer did.” Dropping her hand, she gives me an I knew it!
kind of nod. “Yeah—when I called, the concierge told me there was no need to order anything. That everything had been taken care of by Mr. Mercer and they were just waiting for me—I’m assuming you—to wake up so they could deliver the order. ”
Dropping my gaze to the coffee table between us, I see coffee and pastries.
French scrambled eggs and croissants. Champagne and a frosted pitcher of orange juice.
All the things I love. All the things I would’ve ordered for myself.
Allister doesn’t even know how I take my coffee, let alone how I like my eggs.
Shit.
Chest going tight again, I look up to find my little sister staring at me. She doesn’t look mad or irritated anymore. She looks worried.
“Tell me what’s going on, Millie,” she says, her tone suddenly gentle. “I know this is still pretty new for us but I’m your sister and I love you. I promise you can trust me. I swear that I—”
“That’s just it…” Shaking my head, I look around the room and suddenly feel like I’m drowning. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t—”
“Okay.” Seeing how close I am to a downward spiral, Gwen reaches across the table for my hand.
“Okay…” Giving me a squeeze, she lets go.
Reaching for a champagne flute, she fills it with a generous pour of Les Clos Pompadour 2003 before topping it off with OJ.
Dropping a fresh strawberry into my glass, she offers it to me.
“Then we’ll get drunk and eat ourselves sick while we figure it out together. ”