Shelby.
She did so many thoughtful things. She took care of me. She was my friend.
My best friend.
I looked around the comfortable room. She had made this house into a home for me. She made my life easier. Better. I couldn’t imagine my world without her. Simply the thought of it made my chest hurt the way it did earlier in the music store.
She was special.
My eyes were drawn to the picture again.
Home…heart…
I sat up, suddenly knowing why the thought of her out on a date with Douglas was so upsetting. Why the thought of her dating anyone made me crazy.
I knew now why I hadn’t been on a date since she had come into my life. Why I loved being with her all the time. There was a reason I couldn’t imagine my life without her. Why everything I did revolved around her, and why her opinion and thoughts meant more than anyone else’s. The reason I knew her moods by the music she played. Because I knew her—all of her. Her footsteps and the cadence of her voice. She was the reason I missed home so much while I was away. It wasn’t this place I was longing for—it was her. They were one and the same: My heart—My home.
My Beaker.
My best friend.
It hit me like a ton of bricks.
I was in love with Shelby. Completely and totally in love with her.
I sat back, stunned, the empty glass leaving my fingers and hitting the rug with a dull thud.
Holy shit.
She was gonna kill me.ShelbyI glowered at my reflection in the mirror. Why was I so pale? Slipping on my purple blouse, I hesitated, unsure whether to put my hair up or leave it down. Deciding it would be better up, I swept it into a chignon, leaving some of the ends loose and swirling around my shoulders. I stood back, gazing again. Something was missing. Then it dawned on me.
I wasn’t smiling.
I wasn’t excited.
I was nervous and edgy.
And not the good kind of nerves either. I was going on a date with Douglas Wright—handsome, well-known Hollywood director and producer. Women everywhere would love to be in my shoes. Yet, all I felt was this strange sensation I was making a mistake going out with him. He had shocked me so much by asking, I had said yes before I even realized what I was agreeing to do.
Slipping my feet into a pair of simple flats, I grinned, knowing Lily would roll her eyes and hate them. But they were comfortable, and it wasn’t like I was dressing for the camera. I doubted I would even be spotted with Douglas. Not like when I was out with Liam the other night.
Liam.
I sat on the edge of my bed, thinking about earlier. Ever since I had agreed to go out with Douglas, things had been off between us. He was acting strange, even for Liam, and I was reacting to him by being defensive. I had every right to go on a date, just like Liam. We were both adults and could date whomever we wanted to. Oddly enough, though, the entire time I had worked for him, he never had been on a real date. His evenings, unless it was business-related, were always spent here, at home, with me. I hadn’t even realized that until this moment.
I sighed. Maybe this was a mistake. I wasn’t ready to date anyone yet. After the disaster that was my marriage, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready to date again.
Marrying Malcolm had been a mistake. Looking back, I knew I married him for all the wrong reasons. My friends were all getting married and settling down. Everett had moved to LA, and I was lonely. I met Malcolm and I thought he needed me. Only he didn’t. I thought I loved him. I was wrong. What I thought was love was simply the need to no longer be alone, and the only real thing he needed from me was my steady source of income and access to all my finances.
Since my parents died, leaving us with nothing, I was careful with money, saving as much as possible. I worked hard, often two or three jobs at a time, and helped put Everett through college. He worked as well and went to school; I was insistent he get his degree. When I landed a good paying job as a PA, things got easier, but we always lived a simple life. When Everett saw an opportunity in LA, he asked me to move with him, but I liked my job and stayed where I was in Sacramento. We remained close and he visited often, even after I was married. He never liked Malcolm, and, in retrospect, I should have listened to him.
In the three years we were married, Malcolm drifted from job to job, months often slipping by before he found the next one. It was always someone else’s fault he lost his job, never his. As time went by, everything changed. Nothing was good enough. Our apartment wasn’t large enough; our car wasn’t as stylish as he wanted. I wasn’t as sexy or fun as he thought I should be. Once, at a marriage-rebuilding weekend we’d attended at my insistence, one exercise had been to describe your perfect, ideal partner. Listening to the other couples, I was amazed how often they described their spouse without even realizing it, and then watched as dawning realization hit them. I’d hoped the same would happen for us. But when Malcolm spoke up, he described his ideal as tall, blond, buxom, and a tiger in bed. I sat there beside him, dark-haired and petite, knowing he certainly didn’t think I was a tiger in bed since he complained about that a lot, too. I was nowhere close to his ideal, and I was beyond embarrassed. When Roni, his blond assistant from his last job, disappeared at the same time he left me, I realized how stupid and blind I had been.