His name formed on my lips, but I refused to give weight to the word, even when the voices in my head hissed.
His lips, which had been opened in conversation with someone beside him, closed, and his jaw clenched. Watching his whole body adjust from a relaxed state to on-alert sent a thrill through me, like I was watching someone vibrate with life.
I'd been addicted to many things in my life. I'd felt the nausea, anxiety, sweat, clammy skin, and other symptoms of withdrawal with a poignancy that would be difficult to forget, but not one symptom compared to the continuous ache I'd felt for the last three years. An ache for him. For Six.
I felt the rapid staccato of heartbeats.
thrum thrum thrum.
“Six,” the word spilled from my lips, my lungs compressed, as if expelling his name was an exorcism. It wasn't loud enough for him to hear, but I knew he did anyway.
Who are you now?
The first thought that popped into my head.
I miss you.
The second thought, and with it I felt a tug in my chest, as if someone had pulled on one of my ribs, fracturing it to make room for the expanding of my heart.
How can you still do this to me?
The third thought. And it hurt. You think you can go so long without the sight of something, until it's there, literally in the flesh, stealing your breath.
Green eyes stared at me as if they couldn't absorb the fact that I was there. Maybe I was projecting, because I realized that was my thought, too.
Do you still think of me?
The fourth thought punctured, and I let the hurt it birthed spread through me.
A history of bullshit dropped between us, and I was suddenly seeing him through a film of regret.
Did you ever love me?
The fifth thought made me breathless. My heart sped up, drowning out the sounds around me.
His neck shifted slightly, and I took in his appearance. He wore a five o'clock shadow and his dark hair was just long enough for the ends to curl. He used to shave his head so he was bald—a look I’d loved. But this, this look brought me back to when we’d first met. He looked good, despite the tension radiating off of his body as he digested my presence.
I still love you.
The sixth thought. The one I had been trying to suppress. I looked down at the floor and made fists with my hands hard enough to hurt.
When I looked back up, he was gone.
I searched the lobby for him, despite the voice in my head telling me to get the hell out of there. Three years had gone by. Three years since I'd held a knife to my wrist and threatened him, promising to carve his name into my skin if he didn't leave me.
A lot can change in three years.
I tossed the cup into the trash and walked out of the lobby, my sneakers suddenly so much louder now that they were no longer cushioned by expensive carpet.
The street was full of cars and people, the air filled with horns blaring and people laughing. I winced, the sound of their laughter piercing my eardrums.
Walking along the sidewalk, I looked up and down the street, searching for him. My eyes met a dozen pairs belonging to strangers, my nose inhaled cigarette smoke. But he wasn't there.
Resigned, I turned to walk down the street. Before I could walk ten feet, I felt his hand on my shoulder.
My stomach burned. My eyelids closed. My skin shivered. I spun around.
“Mira,” he said. That voice. It lived in my dreams, as an echo in my head. To hear it again grounded me while also causing my legs to shake.
“Six.”
The sidewalk was dark, the only illumination coming from the headlights as the taxis left the curb. I watched the light dance over his face in the dark.
“What are you doing here?”
My first time seeing him in years and these were his first words. Not, I've missed you. Not, It's good to see you. I jerked my arm from his grasp. “I live here, remember?”
His eyes narrowed. He wasn't happy to see me. Not that I could blame him. After everything I'd put him through, I didn't exactly expect him to toss confetti at me.
“I guess I forgot.”
He wanted to hurt me with that answer, but he didn't. And even more, he set the tone for our conversation with those four little words. “No, you didn't,” I said it with a sly smile and crossed my arms over my chest.
He opened his mouth to speak but closed it just as quickly, biting down hard enough to cause a tick in his jaw.
“What are you doing here?”
Six turned and looked back at the hotel like he expected someone to follow him. The slight tightening of his eyebrows told me that something—or rather, someone—was waiting for him. The dull ache in my stomach turned boiling hot in an instant and I resisted coughing on the acid that burned up my throat.
He faced me again, seemingly searching for words. Three years ago, I'd known him well enough that I thought I could read his mind. But as much as the last three years had changed me, they'd changed him more. I couldn't read him as easily as I once could.
He shook his head and blew out a breath. “Do you...” he glanced back at the hotel again. “Do you want to talk?”
I shrugged, nonchalance on my face. “Talk? Why? We don't need to talk.”
Before I knew what was happening, Six had clamped his hand on the crook of my elbow and was pulling me toward the hotel. A homey kind of warmth coated my entire arm.
“Let go of me,” I said through gritted teeth, struggling to yank my arm free. In a sick way, I was happy he was touching me, albeit not under these particular circumstances. I didn't want to be held by him unless he wouldn't let me go, which ironically, was what I was asking him to do.
Once he'd pulled me through the doors into the muted lighting of the lobby again, I shook myself from his grip. “What do you want?”
He glared at me, as if I'd been the one to manhandle him. “I want to see you, in the light.”
I knew what he meant when he said that. He wanted to see if I was high. And even though I wasn't, I still whipped around and stalked away from him, back toward the exit.
“Mira, wait!” he called.
I was pissed. I didn't expect that the first time we'd see one another after what had happened he'd talk to me like this. I didn't expect candlelight or soft music, but I expected to see a little bit of longing reflected in him. But I didn't see that. In my gut lived a tumbleweed of emotion, scratching against my insides as it begged me to speak.
Six wasn't feeling what I was feeling. My head was spinning, and I couldn't credit it to drugs flooding my system, because I was stone cold sober.
“William?” It sounded like music, that voice. I twisted my head around and saw a woman in a cream dress, with pale blonde hair spilling over one shoulder. She was facing Six, and I watched in slow motion as she brought one delicate hand to his forearm and rested long fingers on the fabric of his shirt. As my eyes slid up, I felt my stomach bottom out when she flipped her head, tossing those blonde curls over her shoulder and exposing her face, all delicate bones and perfect skin.
I was darkness, and she was light. I was the monster who called to the blackest parts of your soul, luring you into danger. And she was someone to follow out of the shadows. Her grace was severe in its contrast to mine, with my deeply olive skin looking like I was permanently smudged with dirt against her cream and roses complexion.
Six was staring at me, despite this woman's hold on his arm. My eyes flashed back and forth, between Six and this goddess of a woman. The moment Six's eyes turned to her, hers turned to me.
With eyes like blue silk, she looked me over. The eyes were curious, questioning. And then she turned fully, facing me. “Hello.”
If her voice was an instrument, it would be a harp. Lovely, soothing. I didn't trust pretty things.
I didn't return her greeting and instead watched as she looked at Six again. “William, is she a friend?”
She didn't enunciate friend in any special way, as she pr
obably should have. I imagined her saying something else: “William, is she the woman you loved down to your soul? The woman who took advantage of you and carved a hole in your heart so big that no one—not even I—can fill it?”
Those lies gave me little comfort in that moment.
I took a demented sort of pride in knowing I had caused him pain. He may have moved on from me, but I knew that this woman—with her soft hair, her silk dress, and her skin free of blemishes—could not fill the Mira-sized hole in Six's heart.
And not only that, she called him William. A name I knew he didn't go by. And she talked about me as if I couldn't hear her referring to me in the third person.
It's been three years since you saw him, Mira, the voice in my head reminded me with a subtle kick to my confidence.
“This is Mirabela Christy.” Six gestured to me, and somehow it still sounded like I was an animal in a cage, being discussed by the zoo attendees. I winced at his use of my full name.
“Mirabela,” the goddess purred, extending her hand to me. “I'm pleased to meet you.”
“Just Mira,” I said, ignoring her hand. I saw Six stiffen and ran a tongue over my teeth and repeated it. “Just ... Mira.”
“Mirabela is a beautiful name,” the goddess said.
I ignored her remark. We existed in different universes of beautiful. “And who are you?”
The goddess smiled, baring white, perfectly straight teeth. “I'm Victoria.”
“Okay.” A four-fucking-syllable name. That fit her perfectly. I had a four-syllable name, but I didn't employ it unless under duress.
The goddess gripped Six tighter and smiled wider at me. “Are you here to celebrate?”
I looked down at my sweaty clothes and was about to say, “Do I fucking look like I'm here to celebrate?” when Six interrupted. “No, she was just in the neighborhood, right?”
He was looking at me but holding onto her. This situation was weird, even for me. “I'm always in the neighborhood; I live here.”
Six's jaw clenched. Victoria cocked her head to the side. “How do you know William?”
I flicked my eyes to Six and saw the storm raging in his irises. “We're old friends.” One of my least favorite f-words: friends. What a shockingly incompetent word for what we were.
“Yes,” Six agreed. “Mirabela and I know one another from years ago.”
What the fuck with the Mirabela bullshit? Was he forcing formality here?
“Just Mira,” I repeated, placing significant enunciation on the word, “Just.” It was almost like he was wanting me to keep up the echo of “Just Mira,” in correcting him. If that was true, he didn't betray it in his eyes, because he looked everywhere except at me.
“Well, you should join us, Just Mira.”
Six stilled at Victoria's words. Just. Our inside joke. This blonde goddess with her four-syllabled name and the body that was a polar opposite of mine was using our joke.
Fucking hell.
Victoria passed me a glass of champagne, and I held it up. “To what are we toasting?” I asked before bringing it to my lips and tossing the golden liquid back, not thinking, not waiting for her to answer.
Victoria exchanged looks with Six before answering. “Our engagement.”
I thought about the swirl painting that still sat at home and imagined myself following that swirl all the way to the bottom.
He'd never wanted to marry anyone. He hadn't wanted to marry me.
But here he was. Getting ready to marry someone else.
I blinked at him, taking him in. Victoria turned as someone hugged her, taking her attention away from us. And I opened my mouth and said the words that would change everything, words he didn't deserve, but words I knew were still true. Words meant to hurt.
“How can you marry her?” I leaned in, saw a muscle in his neck jump, “When you're still in love with me?”
6
I pulled away, even as Victoria’s words crashed through my skull like resounding cymbals.
Engaged. Engaged. Engaged.
Mother-fucking engaged.
I took another sip. I choked. I imagined golden liquid spewing from my lips and dousing this creature. Engaged. The word was twisted in my head, tied up in barbed wire commitment. I swallowed hard, feeling the burn of the alcohol blazing my throat.
I looked at Six, waited for his reaction. I had been sober for three years, not that he’d known. And already I was fucking up with this glass of liquid courage. I held the glass with fingers that threatened to crack its slender curves.
You’re fucking engaged to her? I glared at him. But he couldn’t read my thoughts because he obviously was someone else entirely, someone who loved this other woman enough to ask her for a forever.
I was going to be sick.
The alcohol smashed into my system, burning into my brain and filling my empty stomach. My first taste of alcohol in three years, and it was ruined by the bitter taste of Six’s engagement to this silk-clad, peep-toed, shimmering, golden goddess. I bit down on my tongue hard enough to leave an imprint – needing to be grounded, to keep from spilling my rage.
Instantly, my mind went to Dr. Brewer, who I’d begun seeing somewhat recently now that the new season of my life was starting to lose some of its shine, giving way to the voices who taunted, who tempted.
Regain control over your emotions, Mira. It was Dr. Brewer’s voice in my head this time. I needed to focus. I pushed my feet into the carpet, felt the plush fabric sink under the soles of my tennis shoes. I honed in on the light laughter coming from the people around us and the instrumental music wafting from the speakers. I smelled lilies—blech, who died?—and then I smelled Victoria’s perfume. I imagined one ounce of it cost more than my monthly grocery bill.
I breathed in through my nose, out through my mouth. And then I turned to Victoria and passed her the glass. “I’m an alcoholic,” I said, feeling Six’s eyes burning into my soul.
Her eyes widened as if I’d slapped her. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she sputtered, holding the glass out of reach as if I’d lunge for it again.
I glanced at Six. He was staring intently at me, as if I was about to detonate, and he wasn’t sure if he should intervene or run for cover. I turned to Victoria. “What are you doing in San Francisco?”
Victoria leaned in, “I just moved here, so we could start our life together.” She wrapped her arm around Six’s forearm, securing him to her. “And now we have to start wedding planning.” She tilted her head back to smile up at Six, who was still staring stonily at me.
The repeated use of we was making my eye twitch, but I wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as Six clearly was. “I’ve lived here for seventeen years.” I ran a hand over my forehead, pushing back the stray hairs. “I can show you around if you need anything.” I emphasized the I in my sentences, illuminating the fact they were a we and I was just a me. A solitary being.
But why the fuck had I offered that? I was still reeling from the engagement. That had to be it.
My offer apparently thrilled Victoria who turned to face me fully, eyes wide and mouth open in excitement. “Oh, God, that would be wonderful!” She practically squealed. “Planning a wedding in a new city is going to be such a challenge, you know?”
I didn’t know. “Of course,” I replied, forcing false excitement into my voice. “Nothing more difficult than planning a wedding in a new city,” I added, eyes wide and face slack. She wouldn’t get my sarcasm, but I knew Six did by the way his lips twitched slightly.
“Oh, so difficult,” Victoria—why was her name so long?—agreed, heaving a sigh loaded with all the hardships she clearly endured on a daily basis.
“Let me know what I can do,” I offered. This wasn’t me. I didn’t offer anything to women in shiny gold dresses with hair that looked so perfect it had to be fake. But I knew I was affecting Six, so I continued speaking with the four-syllabled goddess.
She sighed, and I watched, fascinated, as the weight of the world seemed to sl
ide from her shoulders. Wedding planning and perfect hair—was this all she had to worry about? Rough life.
She slid hair off her shoulders and moved closer to me, subtly putting herself between Six and me. “I haven’t looked for a venue, for a florist…” she shook her head. “I should probably hire a wedding planner!”
“Totally,” I agreed, nodding, thinking about my goldfish and how Henry had more significant problems than dear Vicky. For example: wondering if its owner would remember to feed it. But I guessed that’s why I had Brooke and Norah.
Six, who’d been quiet for this exchange, finally spoke up. “Tori, I think Mirabela needs to get going.”
Tori. The name even sounded fancy. But still, she referred to herself as Victoria, like the extra syllables meant she was more than just Tori.
I clenched my jaw and swung my eyes to him. “Just Mira. And do you?” I asked, my voice soft but the threat clear. “That’s interesting, because I don’t think I have anywhere else to be at the moment.” I narrowed my gaze on him, hoping my intentions were clear.
Yes, I’d been the one to remove him from my life, and maybe he held a bit of anger for me, but he was going out of his way to distance me. To evict me in a kinder way than I’d done to him. I tried to look at him, but Vicky was dominating the conversation.
“William, don’t ruin our fun,” Victoria’s sing-song voice admonished, with a pat to his arm.
“Yeah, William.” I stressed his formal name and took pleasure in the wince that tightened his features. “Vicky and I are just beginning.”
I saw his body coil, ready to push me from the room; from Victoria, I noticed, briefly, the way her fingers trembled on her champagne flute. Six called her Tori, but she’d introduced herself as Victoria, a name that was a workout for the tongue and lips. And I couldn’t help but call her Vicky, a name that conjured up thoughts of old ladies with too many necklaces and smeared red lipstick.
Pieces of Eight (Mad Love Duet Book 2) Page 7