Midnight Blue

But I’d saved her, too, hadn’t I?

In the only way I truly mattered.

With my money.

It was only when I strolled back to the hotel that it occurred to me what my heartbreak was really about.

Tania.

Blake.

Alfie.

Lucas.

The list wasn’t short, but it was telling. There was one thing omitted from it—two, actually—and those were the things I should have considered the most.

Will and Fallon. They made me feel nothing.

And that, somehow, made me feel everything.

Hudson: No longer on your period, Jenna?

Jenna: You can say that again. Indie, how are things?

Indie: I hate your client, Jenna, and your boss, Hudson.

Jenna: What has he done?

Indie: Is Fallon really all that amazing?

Hudson: She’s pretty the way the Eurovision is. Fascinating, but ultimately makes you want to puke. Why?

Indie: Alex found out she’s engaged to Will. He was not happy. We can’t find him.

Jenna: ???

Jenna: ELABORATE.

Indie: Blake is roaming the streets, along with Alfie and Lucas. They asked me to stay in the hotel in case he shows up.

Jenna: Keep us posted. I don’t need this right now with everything that’s going on.

Hudson: What IS going on?

Jenna: Doesn’t matter.

Hudson: Tell me, Indie, is Alex still mad at Luc?

Indie: Very much so. Why?

Hudson: Oh, no reason. If you ever get to it, tell Lucas he’s a jerk. He’ll know why.

Unattainable. Cold. Disturbed.

I knew that. I wasn’t, after all, stupid. But maybe that was what drew me to Alex. He was categorically unreachable—he would never give me his heart or future or even the greater chunk of his presence—but he still gave me something. Some fuel to run on as I knitted together patches full of stupid dreams and idealistic ideas about us. And I did. I absolutely did. Despite my best efforts, and what I so often told myself, I wanted Alex in more ways than he wanted me. It was very easy to figure out, actually. Every time we touched, it was always in my room, always in the dark, always on his terms. I was his little doll. The one he’d bend over and finger under the dinner table, his fingers ascending up my underskirt, meeting my wet flesh and playing with me while he was engrossed in a conversation about record labels with Alfie at the hotel ballroom. I was the just-for-funsies girl he’d pin to the bed—arms above my head, always, legs spread wide—and kiss until I begged and panted and made a fool of myself. I was now the girl I’d always detested. The one who took something, even though she wanted everything, because in the end, she settled for less.

I tried to convince myself I was after the desire, and not the desired. That he was just a tool, and that with time, and space, and distance, I’d forget about him.

I’d realized how wrong I was when I stood in the hallway, The Paris Dress clutched to my chest. I’d been about to walk over to Alex’s room and ask if they had an extra pair of scissors, since I couldn’t find mine.

He stormed down the hallway, taking the stairs, not the elevator, despite the fact we were on the twentieth floor. His door was still open, and his scent was everywhere in the hallway, so different and masculine and uniquely his. Blake looked back at me from the threshold. I quirked one eyebrow, silently asking him to explain. Alex’s eyes shone, and the pain etched on his face couldn’t be mistaken. It was there, and it was raw.

“He found out about Fallon and Will’s engagement.”

I pulled my lower lip into my mouth with my teeth, my eyes widening. The dull pain in my chest intensified. For him. For me. Maybe even for Blake. The notion that this was over—that we were over—took over me.

Maybe we’d reached a boiling point.

Maybe we were done.

I spent the remainder of the day in my hotel room, watching TV. I’d Skyped with Natasha, Craig, and Ziggy. Craig couldn’t leave the house, and Natasha wouldn’t bring him any booze, which prompted him to stay reluctantly sober. It wasn’t fun to watch him moping around, but I hadn’t seen him look so healthy in years. His cheeks had a natural pink hue again and his skin looked smoother. The bags under his eyes were less prominent. And he was functioning. Ish.

Yet, I didn’t find myself happy about it.

“Craig, go fix Ziggy his dinner. There’s mashed potatoes and chicken in the fridge,” Nat said that day.

I smiled tiredly at that. They could afford chicken. I was glad, despite everything, that I was still touring with Alex. Whoever had said money can’t buy happiness was never truly poor. Money could buy happiness, but that doesn’t mean you need too much of it.

When Craig and Ziggy were out of earshot, Nat took the extra step and grabbed the laptop, jogging to her bedroom and shutting the door behind her. She jumped on the bed and fixed the monitor so she could see me better.