“Baby.”
Evan’s arms went around me, strong and firm, and though I wanted to shake them off, I let him hold me as I made my way down to the curb where the sidewalk met the parking lot.
“Sweetheart, what are you doing here?”
I pulled away from him, but then I had to hug myself, because as soon as his arms were no longer around me, I felt lost again.
“Lina? Jesus, Angie, talk to me. You’re starting to scare me.”
I sucked in a deep, stuttering breath, pushed my hair off my face, and turned to face him. “Who is she?” I demanded, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Who is Ivy?”
His eyes widened, and he said very slowly and very carefully—as if I was a bomb that might go off at any moment—“Why do you want to know?”
I told myself I wasn’t going to scream. That I was going to be rational. That I trusted him and I wasn’t going to be one of those women who flew off the handle in a fit of jealous rage.
I told myself that, but I was having one hell of a hard time implementing it.
I reached out and touched his arm. It was hidden by his shirt sleeve, but I almost felt as if I could feel the tattoo burning into me. “I need to know that you weren’t just playing me, Evan. I mean—I guess if you were then it was my own damn fault. I’m the one who said I wanted this to be temporary, right? I’m the one who said three weeks.”
I pushed up off the curb and turned to look at him. I felt the tears trickle down my face, but I wasn’t sobbing anymore. I was a wreck, but at least I was a wreck with some semblance of control.
“But then you asked if I was staying, and I guess I thought—I mean, maybe I hoped—”
“What?” he asked.
It was just one word, but he said it with such soft hope that it gave me courage.
“I came here because you’re right. Because I’m not being true to myself. I want art, not politics. Beauty, not bills and bartering. And so I came here to tell you that. Because, because—” I shook my head, not yet ready to put everything into words. “But maybe I presumed too much. Because I didn’t know about her. I didn’t know about—”
“Ivy,” he said, and I had to close my eyes to block the pain of that one simple word.
His hands closed over my shoulders. “Look at me,” he said.
I hesitated, then slowly opened my eyes. I saw warmth in his face. Warmth and desire and what looked remarkably like happiness. I think I may have even seen love.
And then, without warning or pretense, he leaned in and kissed me so gently it almost made me cry again.
“Come on,” he said after he pulled away. He twined his fingers in mine and started to walk toward his car.
“Where are we going?”
“I have a few things to tell you,” he said. “I think we’ll start with Ivy.”
The car ride was quiet, primarily because Evan wasn’t saying a damn thing and neither was I. He seemed content to wait. I was afraid to break the silence in case I was wrong and it hadn’t been happiness I’d seen in his eyes. And if he was taking me to meet the girlfriend he had secreted away in a tower, then I didn’t want to know about it until the last possible second.
Mostly, though, I was willing to just surrender. I’d worked myself into a frenzy over something I was beginning to believe was a misunderstanding. And I’d twisted my own life and future around because of guilt and fear. I needed to learn to step back—and Evan was the only one I trusted.
I hoped like hell I wasn’t wrong.
But when we reached Evanston, I couldn’t stand it any longer. “How much farther?”
“Five minutes.”
I swallowed, then nodded. “Okay,” I said, and was irritated by the way my voice broke. I glanced sideways at him. “Don’t break my heart.”
“Never,” he said, with such firm certainty that an errant tear escaped down my cheek.
I brushed it away, annoyed at myself for being an emotional mess.
We were in a neighborhood near Northwestern now, and he pulled onto a side street and then up to the gate of a stunning mansion with a beautiful manicured lawn. “We’re here,” he said, as he keyed in a gate code. The gate swung open and he pulled up toward the house, and as the driveway angled around, I caught sight of a pool, a tennis court, and a guesthouse on the property.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“My house,” he said, and then killed the engine.
“Yours?” I wasn’t expecting that. “But the houseboat …?”
“I prefer to stay there.” He opened his door and got out of the car. “Come on.”
I took a deep breath and followed him, not at all sure what to expect but certain of only one thing. If I tried to guess, I would undoubtedly be wrong.