on my belly, I close my eyes.
It’s a girl, I think to myself. Certain this time.
Even if Nolan doesn’t want her, I do.
But even if I kept her, would I be enough?
Could I give her enough?
I amble to my room, darken the blinds, grab my ear pods, and collapse in a heap on my bed listening to a playlist I made years ago, long before Nolan Ames walked into my life. I pull the covers over my head. Close my eyes. And let it all out.
I’m half asleep when Nolan texts me, asking if I’m okay.
NOLAN: Just checking on you …
NOLAN: Let me know if you need anything.
NOLAN: I’m here for you.
I silence my ringer, taking comfort in the fact that he reached out. Maybe he cares more than he lets on? Maybe our little predicament has paralyzed him with fear and he’s not thinking straight? He’s definitely not acting like himself.
We have thirty-two weeks to make this decision.
A lot can change in seven months.
Thirty-Six
Sophie
Present
A woman with green hair and Doc Martens points her camera phone in our direction as we take in the view of Elliot Bay Saturday afternoon. It’s the third time today that Trey’s been recognized.
“Don’t look now, but we’re being watched again,” I say through the side of my mouth, leaning in. I find it humorous how people care so much about someone they’ll never know.
“Maybe we should hold hands? For authenticity’s sake?” he suggests, his expression serious.
We’re flanked by a team of security, all of them ensuring no one invades our personal bubble while keeping a comfortable distance.
I nod.
This is literally what I signed up for—to be his fiancée. Public displays of affection are a part of that.
I take Trey’s hand and brush my shoulder against his arm as we stroll unhurried, like a lovely, normal couple enjoying the moment. He looks down at me with a knowing, closed-mouth smile and, for a microsecond, a spark of realness passes through me. Hot then cold. Electric then gone.
Diverting my attention, I focus on the Olympic Mountains in the distance. From here, I’m reminded how tiny we are in the grand scheme of things. Lifetimes from now, no one will know my name. It makes all of life’s big problems and impossible decisions seem almost miniscule. And it gives me all the more reason to do as much good as I can while I’m here.
We grab a quick lunch at a local oyster house before ambling into a vintage bookstore and a handful of charming little shops all lined up in a row. In the end, we’ve amassed a collection of things we don’t need. A first edition Maya Angelou. A crystal candy dish the shape of the Space Needle. A postcard-sized, framed map of the city from 1962. A Babe Ruth autographed baseball card that reminded him of his grandfather’s card collection. A few hundred dollars later, we climb into his rented SUV and head to the hotel.
Buying things I don’t need without giving them serious contemplation isn’t something I’m accustomed to, but Trey does it as if it’s as natural as breathing.
A handful of years back, I received a $2,000 tax return that burned a hole in my pocket for weeks until I finally compromised and splurged on a new pair of shoes before stashing the rest in savings. I imagine a trillion dollars could burn quite the hole if a person let it.
“Westcott,” he says as we turn a corner. His phone is pressed against his ear. I hadn’t heard it vibrate. In fact, I haven’t heard it vibrate once this afternoon. It was also quiet at dinner last night.
That can’t be normal for him …
Did he turn it off—for me?
“Yes,” he says, “that’s fine. Tell them I’ll handle it first thing Monday. And don’t do anything until I get back.”
Trey ends the call, slides his phone out of sight, and clears his throat. “Sorry about that.”
I wave it off. “It’s fine. Work doesn’t stop because you’re out of town.”
I tell myself not to read into any of this, that a man with his upbringing has kindness and good manners in his DNA. He probably treats everyone in his personal life this way. His reputation as a shark in the office is probably nothing more than a tactic that helps him close business deals and keep his employees from stepping out of line. No one respects a pushover.
“Is there anything you’d like to do on your last night here? We fly out first thing