My throat gets tight. I attempt to clear it as I turn my back on my best friend in the world, grab my clutch purse off the chair, and drain the remnants of my mimosa. When I turn back to Phoebe, I can barely meethereyes.
“I should probably get going. Deal with Duncan.” I shrug. “You don’t mind if I skip out a little early,doyou?”
“Of course not, love.” Phoebe’s voice is soft. “Lila… I’m sorry if I upset you, bringing her up. I didn’t mean anythingbyit…”
My gaze locks on hers. “I know you didn’t.” I try out a smile. “See you at the rehearsaldinner?”
“Don’t be late. I need all my bridesmaids in attendance, to help make mebeautiful.”
“Phee, you never need any help in thatdepartment.”
I blow her a kiss over my shoulder as I walk outthedoor.
ChapterEight
Someone called meprettytoday. Their exact words wereyou’re pretty annoying, but I’m taking it as a complimentanyway.
Delilah Sinclair, always looking on thebrightside.
It shouldn’tsurpriseme.
Honestly, I should’ve expected it, should’ve anticipated that this would happen. Still, I can’t help the flare of shocked disbelief that burns through me when I step inside my apartment, calling out for Duncan as I make my way to the kitchen, and find the note stuck to my refrigerator on a lime green sticky note. There’s just one line scrawled on it, in my brother’s familiarhandwriting.
I’MSORRY.
And that’s when I know.He’sgone.
Like I said, Duncan disappearing into thin air shouldn’t strike me as such a curveball. He came to me for money and when I couldn’t provide it, he took off to find someone who could. Simpleasthat.
I’m not sure why it stings so much. I’ve long been aware that the onlytrusthe’s concerned with building between us concerns my freshly drained trustfund. He has no use for me if I’m not bankrolling his latest business venture or bailing him out of a bad situation. I’m not a sister, certainly not a friend; in his mind, my value is tied intrinsically to my willingness to open mycheckbook.
Tired from a day that’s only half over, I slide off my heels as I walk to my bedroom and eye their scuffed soles. My last pair of Louboutins — the only ones I haven’t sold at the high end consignment shop around the corner. Phoebe eyed them suspiciously as soon as I walked into her fitting earlier, no doubt curious about my newfound penchant for wearing out-of-season items. It’s not like me to repeat outfits, let alone pair a classic autumn heel with an off-white summer sundress. She didn’t comment, but she definitelytooknote.
I’ll have to tell her soon. There’ll be no way to hide it when I’m living in a dingy Somerville studio with a microscopic closet full of discountfootwear.
It’s hot outside — a sticky June afternoon, the kind that makes you want to stand in front of the fridge just to get some relief. The open windows allow a small breeze inside, but its barely enough to make adifference.
I set down my heels, reach around for my zipper, and strip out of my dress. Fanning myself, I flop down on my limp air mattress in my lace bra and panty set, too lazy to even bother re-inflatingit.
Everything feels more manageable, after a twenty minutepowernap…
My eyes are sliding closed when something touches my leg — which, in itself, is alarming, considering I live alone. Even more so because, to be totally honest with you, whatever touches me israther…
Warm.
And…
Wet.
And I think itmightbe…
Atongue?!
The only thought I can conjure is,Holy heck, something just licked me! In my own bed! Without my permission! How rudeisthat?!
Eventually, my survival instincts take over — heart pounding, I bolt upright and scramble backwards out of bed. Pressing my tailbone to the wall, as far away from my mattress as I can get without leaving the room, I curl my legs up to my chest and keep my eyes locked on my pretty pale violet comforter. For a second, I think it was myimagination…
But then it — whateveritis — starts moving again, a basketball-sized lump thrashing around beneath my covers, trying to find me and, most likely, eat my brains. Horrible visions flash through my head, every invisible monster who ever lurked in my childhood closets or haunted me from the dark flooding into my brain in less than asecond.