“How long has this been going on?” Remi asked.
Bianca hesitated. Ever since the text messages began, she’d been hyper aware of her surroundings—on edge, spooked. And just as she opened her mouth to answer, she gasped, as if her breath had tangled in her throat. “A month. Maybe a little more.”
“Bianca, that’s a long time without getting law enforcement involved.”
Bianca gave a soft, nervous laugh. “I know how it sounds. I just … he wasn’t always like that. At first, he was kind. Attentive.Thoughtful. You know how it goes.” Remi had enough in her heart, dealing with grief. Bianca wouldn’t put this on her too.
They sat in silence for a moment, the air thick around them.
“You need to report this. Tomorrow,” Remi said, her voice firmer. “I feel like if he knows where you are, we’re all involved now. You, me … the girls.”
“I promise.”
“We’ll call together. You’re not doing this alone. We’ll make a plan. I mean it.”
Bianca’s mind drifted to the guy who she first thought might be her stalker. Luke had been something out of a dream when he waltzed into Chic Threads. He wore all black that day—dark jeans, a slim button-down, and a thin silver ring on his pinky finger. He was looking for something for his mother—a blouse, a piece of jewelry—anything. Her birthday was approaching, and he needed something special right away.
“What would you suggest for a seventy-eight-year-old woman who has everything?” he asked her with a beautiful wide smile.
Bianca didn’t hesitate to answer. “A fine piece of jewelry.”
She showed him a necklace that she had picked up at one of the trade shows a few days before—a beautiful piece with rare stones. She rambled about how the piece was of a historical nature, a rare find. His mother would love it. He listened intently, like her opinion genuinely mattered.
“Can you wrap it nicely for me?” he asked. Then in a flirtatious manner, he said, “The way something beautiful is packaged makes all the difference. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I do agree, and certainly I can wrap it for you.”
That was the first hook.
They had coffee two days later. A week after that, dinner. It was easy—effortless. He was older, yes—but it gave him a kind of allure. He paid attention. Sent flowers. Walked her to her car when she closed the boutique in the evenings. He said all the right things. Until he didn’t.
He made a comment about her dress. “You don’t need to show off so much, not for anyone else.” Then came the questions about where she went, who she saw, why she hadn’t answered his text. On some nights he started to show up uninvited under the pretense that he just happened to be nearby. At first, she told herself it was passion in him coming out. She hadn’t had someone this interested in her since Harry. But the warmth soured fast. One night, he showed up at the boutique after hours. He was drunk—whiskey on his breath. He cornered her in her back office; told her she didn’t appreciate him. That she liked to play innocent, but she wanted the attention, with the tight jeans and sexy dresses. She was nothing but a tease and she owed him. She’d left shaking that night, keys clutched in her hand like a weapon. She blocked his number immediately.
But the messages kept coming. Weird ones, from anonymous numbers. But nothing compared to the message she’d received earlier that made her stomach twist. She didn’t think it could be Luke anymore. No, this was someone different.
“I’m going to grab us another bottle,” Bianca told Remi while standing up.
“Bring the fresh fruit from the fridge.”
Bianca went into the house, opened the refrigerator door, and pulled out the bowl of cantaloupe, honeydew melon, and kiwi, and placed it on the countertop. She made her way to the wine cellar and grabbed another bottle of Chianti. When she returned to the kitchen, she heard giggles from the girls. They were still awake. She started up the stairs to check on them but stopped in midstride.
“What is it with you and your mother? You always seem so tense around her,” she heard Zoe say.
“It’s her fault that my life is so fucked up.”
Bianca stiffened when she heard Mila’s words. She rested her back against the wall and continued to listen.
“How do you mean?”
“She’s the reason my dad left. She was sleeping around with someone. I know because I heard them arguing about it one night.”
“Do you know who the guy was?”
“No, but my dad was pissed. He moved out after that.”
Bianca’s heart started to beat rapidly. She stood frozen at the foot of the stairs, the slightly chilled bottle of wine slick in her hand, her mouth suddenly dry. The soft light from the hallway painted long shadows against the wall, and the sound of her own pulse belted loudly in her ears.
Mila’s voice floated down again, quieter this time. “She thinks I don’t know, but I do.”