One is a Promise(64)

“He’s retiring when he gets home.” I twirl around Bree in the dance studio, sliding seamlessly through the steps I’ve been practicing for the past year. It’s my coping mechanism. I might be falling apart inside, but I keep moving, keep dancing. “I just need to be patient.”

And trust him. I trust Cole more than anyone on the planet.

“I don’t understand why he couldn’t retire before he left.” Bree crosses her arms and stares at the ceiling. “It’s the silence that concerns me the most.” She sighs. “Danni, you must be asking yourself… What if he doesn’t show up for the wedding? It’s only a week away.”

I lose my footing, but she doesn’t notice. Her eyes are closed, as if that could hide the worry on her face.

“Can you at least try to move through his steps?” I grip her shoulders and wait for her gaze to find mine. “I want our first dance to be perfect.”

“I’m not the one who needs to practice. Even if he showed up today, how will he learn this routine in a week?”

He was supposed to be home a month ago. Something’s happened. I feel it like a gaping jagged hole in my gut, but I refuse to examine it. I can’t. I need to focus on the wedding. It’s the only thing keeping me from crumbling.

“Let’s run through the song again.” I walk toward the sound system.

“No.” She blocks my path and places her hands on my face. “I’ve been humoring this…this cloud of hope you’re floating on long enough. We’re at T minus six days, and your groom is nowhere to be found. You haven’t heard from him in months—”

“Four months.” I turn away and walk toward the wedding dress hanging in the corner. “Four months, ten days, twenty-two hours.”

That’s the last time I received an email from him. Over the past year, we talked on the phone five times. Short calls. The connection was horrible with a frustrating delay. But he sounded well, if not tired. We exchanged several emails in the first few months. Then they became more sporadic, with longer and longer stretches between his responses. Until nothing at all.

“He promised me he’ll back in time.” I run a hand over the white tulle skirt of the dress. “We talked about the wedding in every message. He picked the date.” My voice thins. “He said he could learn the dance in a month.” And make me orgasm in awe of his skills.

My chest squeezes painfully. Why is he a month late?

Every day away from him is an eternity in hell. But the last four months of silence, not hearing a word, not knowing if he’s okay is like a poison, dripping into my organs, spreading toxins of doubt, and making me ask all the questions Bree has finally worked up the nerve to voice.

Why didn’t he say fuck it and break the employment contract?

Why did he leave me?

Why hasn’t he emailed me?

What if he doesn’t show up for the wedding?

What if he never comes back?

When he stopped emailing, I called the government building downtown. No one would connect me with his department. They wouldn’t even acknowledge his employment there. When his one year came and went, I waited a week before I showed up at the building. The armed guards wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t ring his boss—whoever that is—and they definitely wouldn’t let me inside.

I have no way to reach him.

No way to ease this soul-gutting desolation.

I straighten my spine with the reminder of his promise. He loves me, and he’ll do everything within his power to return to me.

For the next two hours, Bree and I chill on the couch in the front room, sharing a bottle of wine. She’s been spending more time with me recently, her concern for my mental state growing more blatant with each visit.

“I need to go, Danni.” She glances at her phone. “Or the family won’t eat.”

“Thanks for coming.” I stand and follow her to the door. “You don’t have to, but I really appreciate the company.”

“I know you do.” She hugs me, breathing into my hair, “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

She opens the door and falters. “Oh, sorry. Umm…”

“Danni Angelo?” A middle-aged man in a dark suit looks past Bree to gaze unerringly at me.

“Yes?” I step next to Bree. “That’s me.”

“I’m Robert Wright.” He clasps his hands in front of him.

His expression’s warm, friendly, but there’s a trace of something else in his eyes. Intelligence? Rigidness? I can’t put my finger on it, because there no emotion there at all.

“As a representative of GAO, U.S. Government Accountability Office, I’d like to speak to you about your fiancé, Cole Hartman.” His nose twitches with a soft sniff. “May I come in?”