Chapter Fifteen #2
Either way, the difference between the girl of five years ago and the woman of now was that she couldn’t care less what Andino and Taylor thought.
The nurse, finally through chastising them, informed them that it was their turn to visit Kapoor.
She’d only had four visitors: her assistant and the three private investigators.
Given how charming the actress could be on-screen and in interviews, Saffi been half prepared to fight off an entire entourage of adoring friends and family.
Taylor scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “So, what was that about?”
Saffi shrugged. “Andino was being an asshole about Phoenix.”
“I’m sorry about him. He never really learned tact.”
Taylor didn’t seem to grow tired of apologizing on behalf of both of them. She knew he would say the same to Andino about her. Had he been anyone else, she’d be pissed. But it had always been like this. Taylor was the only way she and Andino had any chance in hell at understanding each other.
“He’s always been like that,” Saffi muttered. “He takes everything so personally.”
Taylor gave her a look.
“What?”
“Come on, Saffi,” Taylor said, sounding exhausted. “You and I both know this is personal.” Not giving her the time to be offended, he added, “That doesn’t mean whatever he said to you was okay, but you have to understand where he’s coming from.”
“What are you talking about?” Saffi asked. “It’s work—how is that personal?”
Saffi had felt something underlying in Andino’s words, but she no longer had the tools to uncover what it was. It was shocking to realize that she’d once understood the man in any capacity. She’d always thought that Andino was a mystery to her.
“You left without warning,” Taylor said, brows furrowed.
He looked so much older than his years. “You never reply to any of our calls or texts or emails. Then all of a sudden you pick up. And you say you’re coming back.
Sure, you’re still cold, but we know how difficult it is for you to be back here.
At least we still have the case to talk about, right?
But no, you don’t even want our help with that.
I half believe you never would’ve even talked to us if we weren’t assigned this case. ”
It was true, but Saffi didn’t dare say it out loud.
“He’s not upset about Phoenix or even that you won’t let us help with the investigation,” Taylor continued. “He’s upset because you’re back, but you still don’t seem to want anything to do with us.”
This version of Andino and Taylor were strangers to Saffi.
The Taylor of her past never would’ve expressed his grievances so openly to her face, he would’ve bottled them up and suffered in silence.
And Andino never would’ve walked away to cool off, his temper was like a loaded gun with the safety off.
These were not the people Saffi knew. Despite their faults, she missed the boys she’d abandoned five years ago.
And the person they missed was the girl who’d left them behind without a word.
From everything she’d seen—the resentment, the jealousy—it was beginning to look like the three of them had grown irreparably apart.
If they tried to replicate the past and failed, it would hurt so much worse than never trying at all.
She wouldn’t risk tarnishing the good memories they had together.
And even if they could fall back into what they once had, it wasn’t as though Saffi could stay in America.
If only for the sake of her father’s reputation, she would have to leave again.
“Taylor, we’re not those kids anymore,” Saffi said. “We can’t go back in time and it’s unfair of Andino to hold me to his expectations of what I’m supposed to be like. We’ve all changed. Maybe it’s time to move on.”
She regretted the words as soon as she said them, but it was for the best. Taylor’s face shuttered and he turned away from her. Neither of them spoke for a moment. The ticking clock felt so loud, Saffi half expected the nurse to come back in and shout at it.
“You’re right,” Taylor said eventually. She couldn’t see his expression. “I should go make sure Atlas isn’t terrorizing the nurses.”
There was so much more to say, but not enough words to express it. So Saffi let him go. Instead, she allowed her mind to wander.
She wondered whether Kapoor’s innocence would come across in person as well as it did behind the lens. She wondered which aspects of her were real and which were airbrushed. Which were altogether lies.
It was probably not good practice to keep a celebrity waiting.
Saffi went down the hallway toward the room number the nurse had given them.
It was then that she realized how rapidly her heart was pounding.
She wiped her palms against her pants, shocked to find that they were sweating.
And when she raised them to her face, she realized they were trembling too.
The distantly familiar full-body excitement of an unsolved case was still thrumming under her skin.
It wasn’t over yet.
Saffi clenched her fists, reining it in. When she looked up, she saw someone familiar.
“Hey!” Tiwari said, surprised.
Saffi winked as they crossed paths, the corner of her mouth upturned in amusement.
The assistant hesitated, opening and closing her mouth as though she had more to say but couldn’t get it out in time.
She was heading in the same direction Andino and Taylor had gone.
Saffi almost stopped to watch the collision course, but something else compelled her.
There were exactly ten rooms in the hallway before Dimple Kapoor’s. It looked like every other door, but there was a certain gravity to this one in particular. Saffi wondered if anyone walking by could feel the importance of the person waiting behind it or if it was just her imagination.
Before she could hesitate any longer, with a swift knock to announce her presence, Saffi made her entrance. The hinges didn’t so much as creak.
An overwhelming floral scent greeted Saffi and the door shut behind her, feeling a lot like the conclusive snap of a coffin.
Shakespeare himself might’ve orchestrated the scene waiting inside.
An ashen, broken woman decorated with bright flowers in the hopes that they would breathe some life into her.
While the plants served to emphasize her beauty, it couldn’t be helped that they also brought attention to how wilted she was in comparison.
There was a certain enchantment to that.
A white bandage covered the woman’s forehead and a sling was wrapped around one arm and strapped over the opposite shoulder.
Her skin, which Saffi had noted to normally be a healthy bronze, was pale.
The brightest things about her were her ever-red lips and that dark, intense gaze that was locked on Saffi.
Despite the weight she’d felt standing outside, she hadn’t expected Dimple Kapoor to be so intimidating. Her presence was a tangible thing, filling up the room and choking the air out of even someone like Saffi—who couldn’t care less about celebrities and their culture of pretension.
This, she realized, was a momentous occasion. There was no question about it. The very grandeur that the universe itself had deemed Saffi unworthy of. Perhaps there just wasn’t enough to go around when people like Dimple Kapoor had it in bucketloads.
The sharp beep of a heart monitor cut through the silence and Saffi broke eye contact first, drawn instead to the machine.
Seventy-one beats per minute, a perfectly normal heart rate, but Saffi could see that there had been a slight uptick around when she’d entered the room.
Nothing out of the ordinary, though. Maybe she could change that.
She stepped closer, inspecting one of many floral bouquets blanketing the room.
Her fingertips slipped over flower petals as she took note of the messages on the cards.
A dozen Feel better soons and We love yous.
All of them gifts from fans. Her growing popularity was evident.
In a flash of delirium, Saffi felt bad for not having brought anything herself.
It was with that absurd thought that she broke free from the trance, snapping back to the picture of innocence lying helplessly on the hospital bed.
Excitement rose in Saffi’s chest. People like this didn’t evolve from nothing.
She wanted to take this woman apart by hand, piece by piece, just to see how she worked.
To see if anything lay underneath other than manufactured parts.
Maybe it was because Saffi knew that she herself was achingly empty inside.
She finally realized what had been bothering her so much about this.
It wasn’t that Kapoor was such a doe-eyed sweetheart—unsuspecting suspects were nothing new.
But Dimple Kapoor herself? A person Saffi couldn’t look at and immediately predict their next three moves?
Someone whose mind she couldn’t even begin to fathom the inner workings of? That was once in a lifetime.
“Hello, Dimple Kapoor,” Saffi greeted. “I’ve been dying to meet you.”