Footsteps sound down the hallway, and I quickly slide the frame back into place.
“Our white knight, Annie, is headed to the Apple Store to get you a new phone,” she calls out. “And more good news—and thank fuck, because I think we deserve it. It was insured! A small win but still a win!”
I step back, making sure the photo hangs evenly.
“Luca?”
“In here.”
She appears in the doorway and manages to tuck away her surprise—or is it fear?—over finding me in here. I’d wager I never go in her office.
“Just poking around,” I say, watching her reaction carefully.
“Of course,” she says, then adds, “It’s just as much your house as it is mine. Poke around as much as you like.”
She sounds sincere when she says it, but her eyes are guarded, soft, and anxious.
I can’t help but wonder if there’s even more than her day job that Emery has been keeping from me.
17EMERY
For the thousandth time, I wish I could hit rewind and take us back to the morning of our anniversary. I’d have remembered our dinner plans, I’d have kept Vince from running his mouth, I’d have made it home in time, and Luca would be fine.
Why am I thinking of this right now? Because after catching Luca very obviously straightening the framed photo hiding my safe, gone is any relief I felt, replaced by the sensation of absolutely drowning in guilt. Guilt over not having told Luca the truth about my job, guilt over having been a shitty partner for the past three years, guilt over being late and literally getting him killed. It’s a lot.
Luca looks back at me from inside my office, his expression for once completely unreadable. For the first time since he woke up,he’sa stranger to me, and the realization hits me like a physical shove.
I want to clear it away, want to return to the space of familiarity—even if it’s just me, even if it’s one-sided. I want him to crack a joke aboutTrue LiesorMission: Impossibleand ease the tension again.
And then another realization lands: I’m expecting Luca to fix everything between us, like he always does.
Time to step the fuck up, Emery.
I walk over to the framed photo and Luca steps aside, watching as I shift it out of the way, revealing the safe.
“To answer the question I know you probably don’t want to ask: No, you didn’t know this was here. Or maybe you did, but you never said anything to me about it.”
There’s a long pause before he asks: “Would that be like me? To just let something like this slide?”
I enter the combination, a seven-digit code, before pressing my right thumb to the fingerprint scan. With a beep, the steel door swings open. Stepping back so Luca can look inside, I hold my breath, considering his question.
“Well,” I begin slowly, “the more I look at our marriage in the rearview mirror…” I watch him rifle through what’s there: certificates, handwritten notes and calculations, and of course the stacks of various currencies I’d put in there in case anything went seriously wrong with BioNEX and we had to get out of town quickly. “The more I think you knew from the get-go that there was something unknowable about me and, for a lot of reasons, you were always okay with someone close to you having a life that you weren’t a part of.” He drops a stack of bills and turns to face me, brows drawn, mouth turned down.
“I was?”
I nod. “And I think I found in you someone who always saw the positive in everything when I always assumed the world was just… broken.”
“Okay,” he says, measured as always, and I know him well enough to know that he’s waiting for me to expand on this.
With the secret no longer between us, I turn away from the safe and hold out my arm so I can help him to the living room. We settle on the couch, and I pull a knee up, turning to face him.
We gaze at each other for a long beat while I pull my thoughts together. How many times did he patiently watch me, out of adoration or teasing or steadiness, while I found my words?
Taking a deep breath, I say, “I think there was a piece in each of us that fit a broken part of the other… and maybe not always in a good way.”
A brief, sad smile flickers across his mouth.
“I mentioned earlier how you practically raised your sisters, but I wasn’t exaggerating. From what you’ve told me, your parents were barely ever home. They’re lovely people, don’t get me wrong, but I’d say they’re lovely asfriendsto their now-adult children. At some point, you said, you realized they weren’t the kind of people who ever relished or even liked being parents to small children or teenagers. It’s almost like it didn’t occur to them that they bore any responsibility to raise you.”