Chapter 40
SNICKERS
Iwatch Pip stare at the tree, shoulders stiff, fists clenched.
"Why?" she whispers. Then louder: "Why would someone do this?"
I step in, pulling her close, turning her away from the mutilated bark.
She doesn’t fight me. She just presses her forehead against my shoulder and exhales.
"We need to call the police," she mutters.
"They won’t do a damn thing," Clare says bluntly, no sugarcoating. "It’s vandalism at best, not exactly their priority."
Kit dips her chin, already texting. "Forget the cops. I'm texting a private investigator. Money gets answers."
Pip lifts her head. "And if this investigator finds proof that Sara did it?"
"Still not illegal," I say. "Leaving notes, burning a tree—it’s obsessive, but not a crime. Not yet."
Pip goes quiet. She knows I’m right.
A shuffle of footsteps.
Pip's aunt, Vivian, steps forward, placing a firm hand on Pip’s arm.
Then she reaches out, her fingertips grazing the mangled bark.
I watch as she trails her fingers over the raised, burnt grooves, her touch lingering as if feeling the weight of history slipping away.
Pip bites her lip. "I'm so sorry, Aunt Vivian. I know how much this tree meant to you."
Vivian keeps tracing the bark, her voice even. "I’ve lost things before. Worse things than this. Besides, what your uncle and I shared had nothing to do with what was etched on the tree.
"That etching, that logo, was just a physical manifestation of a love that's eternal. I can make the same etching on a different tree or sign any painting with it at any time."
Pip breathes in deeply, as if absorbing her aunt’s words. When she exhales, her shoulders loosen, her posture shifts.
She embraces her aunt.
Then she straightens, brushing bark dust from her dress.
I recognize the shift. Her fear is still there, but she's mastering it now, not the other way around.
"Come, ladies," I say to Pip and her aunt. "I'll see you both home."
"You'll be at the Plaza at seven for the wedding rehearsal dinner," says Clare, stepping forward.
"Yes, of course," says Pip.
Our limousine moves smoothly through the streets of Brooklyn, the city lights flickering against the tinted windows.
I sit across from Pip and her aunt, who sit shoulder to shoulder, whispering quietly to one another. Oblivious to everything around them.
Even me.
But that's okay.
Preston and I were like that for a time when we were young boys.
He, the protective older brother. Sharing confidences together, just like Pip and her aunt.
I’m not a sentimental person, but I feel a wave of guilt sweep over me. For years, decades even, Preston and I failed to communicate.
What Vivian said at the tree, I believe to be true. Love is eternal. And I'm hoping that wherever he is now, Preston sees me. Hears my thoughts.
And hears my regrets.
Pip’s voice pulls me back. "Here we are." There's something steadier in her tone now—a quiet acceptance. A reclaiming of balance.
She forces a smile as she looks at her aunt. "I'll take you up to your apartment, Aunt Vivian."
Vivian nods and turns to me. "It was nice meeting you, Mr. Woodward."
"Snickers, please."
"It's hard for me to call a man as distinguished as yourself by that moniker," she says.
"Well, you better get used to it because everybody calls me Snickers."
Pip flashes the first smile I've seen since we all discovered the mangled bark.
"He's a Snickers, all right. And the name is well-deserved."
Pip laughs and turns to me. "I'm going to escort my aunt inside. Will the car wait?"
"Of course."
Piglet leans against my thigh as I watch the chauffeur open the car for the ladies.
I'm glad I got to meet her aunt. She seems like a nice lady. I see where Pip gets her spunk.
Minutes later, Pip gets back inside.
"Would you like to come to my place?" I ask once the chauffeur sets the car in motion.
"Which one? The Mandarin Oriental bachelor pad? Or your snooty Upper East Side mansion?"
We both laugh.
"Whichever one you prefer. I have a toothbrush in each."
"Thanks, but I need to get home. I need to fix Piglet a good meal, then put him down for a nap. Then I need to make myself ready for tonight's 'last performance.'"
At the sound of his name, Piglet wiggles out of my lap. He scampers across the limousine floor and jumps up to Pip's seat.
"You like him, don't you?"
"Yes. I adore him," she says, gently rubbing the area behind Piglet's ears.
The puppy enjoys the sensation so intensely, he twists over, exposing his belly for more.
"I can't bear the idea of losing him," Pip says, looking up at me.
"Why don't you keep him?"
Pip shakes her head. "We're not allowed to have pets in the apartment."
I'm about to say that I will take him, but I stop myself.
I can barely decide my own future—how can I decide his?
If I leave Woodward & Co, my trust fund is revoked. The Mandarin Oriental penthouse—gone.
And then what?
The international DJ lifestyle has its perks, paying off in terms of fame, fandom, and women throwing themselves at my feet.
A life in the limelight. But how long could that last?
And do I even want it anymore?
Especially after meeting Pip.
But everything is coming at me too fast, too soon, to make a decision now.
I'm not about to say something I'll regret later.
Ahead, the city blurs past in streaks of gold and red. Yet for once, it feels like the world is slowing.
We ride in silence until the chauffeur stops in front of Pip's Chelsea apartment building.
"Looks like a nice place."
Pip shrugs. "It's okay. Keesha's a good roommate. We keep it clean. That's about all we can do for it."
I walk Pip and Piglet to the front door.
"Let me walk you up to your apartment," I say as she fusses with her keys.
"It's four stories up. I'll be fine."
Something about this moment lingers. A feeling in my chest I can’t place.
"Shall I have my car pick you up and take you to the Plaza?"
She grins. "Like I said earlier, it's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding."
"Until tonight," I say. But it doesn’t feel like the last word.