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“N-Nothing,” she stammers.

“Don’t lie to me,” I hiss, tossing the cigarette. I turn to face her and give her a challenging stare.

“I didn’t take anything.” - I shake my head, hurt and disappointed that she would lie to me. But I know anger isn’t the way here, not with her. She’s clearly in pain, and me coming down on her won’t help.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t take anything,” I say, my tone a little softer this time. She reluctantly lifts her head, but she wilts under my glare. A mixture of anger and sympathy swirls in my stomach when I look at her.

“Look at you. Your pupils are dilated. I know what drugs do to a person, trust me. So don’t bullshit me, Ali.” My tone is thick with emotion. I just want to help her.

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t say anything, because what could she say, other than the truth, and I sense she’s not ready to tell me. But I know. She can’t deny it.

Tears fall down her cheeks, and she wipes them away, black smudges under her dilated eyes. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I’ve ruined everything. It’s all my fault,” she sobs, her body heaving. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into my chest as I try my best to soothe her, because no matter what, we’re close and someone I’m sure is the love of my friend’s life.

“I need him, Brad. I need him so fucking much. He’s the only one who made it better, but I’ll ruin him, like everything else I touch. I need to stay away from him, but it’s killing me.”

Her words hit me like a dagger to the heart, because I’m doing the same thing. I’m staying away from Gabriella for the same reason, because I believe I’ll ruin her life if she has me in it. And just like Ali needs Harry, I need Gabriella, and it’s so painful to admit.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Gabriella

I stare blankly at my soup bowl, stirring the spoon till the croutons disappear. Days have turned to weeks, and weeks have turned to nearly two months since I’ve seen him. I’ve overworked myself to the point of exhaustion, teaching extra Pilates classes and taking on more accountancy work just to keep my body and mind busy. I need to quit the club, too terrified to continue working there for fear of someone else exposing my secret, but I haven’t been able to face them. I’ve made excuses as to why I can’t work, but tonight is the night I go and tell them I quit and collect my stuff. I haven’t gone to heel class; I’ve avoided Luna’s texts. Ali hasn’t been herself since she got back from her trip, and I’m getting concerned. Ria has been super sick since she got back from honeymoon. She’s almostthree months pregnant now, so I don’t want to add my problems to the mix.

“Are you not enjoying your soup, Gabriella?” My father’s voice has my stirring come to an abrupt halt, and I lift my head to look at him.

“No, it’s fine, I’m just a little tired,” I say, lifting the spoon to my mouth as I fight back against the dry heaving my body wants to do.

“Are you having too much salt in your diet? You are looking a little puffy,” my mother says in between mouthfuls.

Leave it to my mother to find a way to make me feel even worse than I already do.

“No, I have just been busy working.”

“Well, I hope you aren’t coming down with anything. We have the Miller’s dinner this weekend. You’re bringing Patrick, yes?” my mother asks.

“Yes, he’ll be there.” And the urge to dry heave is back. Patrick has thankfully kept his distance and only bothered me once to attend a dinner with some work friends last week. But I know this dinner is a huge part of why he’s forcing me to play the part of his girlfriend. Some very influential people will be attending. Political, celebrities, business owners, and we will be sitting with the CEO of the biggest law firm in Manhattan, and I know Patrick wants an interview. So, I’ll have to work my charm on my dad and get him to recommend Patrick.

“Good,” my father says before patting the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “I have a tennis match in fifteen, so if you’ll both excuse me.” He stands, placing a swift kiss to my mom’s cheek and then doing the same to me, before walking away from the dining table of the country club, leaving just my mom and me.

“I thought we could get our hair and make-up done together before dinner. It’s so lovely you will be joining us this year, now you have a date.”

Yes, so lovely, because, God forbid, I could turn up to one of these functions without being a man’s arm candy. Mom.

“Yes, sounds great,” I say, trying to muster up as much enthusiasm as I can.

“Lovely. I’ll call Claudia at the salon and get us booked in.”

My mom’s hand covers mine, and I flinch at the contact. My mom never shows me any kind of affection, so it concerns me.

“We are so happy to see you with Patrick. His mom tells me he’s always speaking about you. I just wanted you to know your father and I approve. Don’t let this one go.”

On the one hand, I want to scream, tell her what Patrick is really like, but then there’s the other side that feels elated at having got the approval I have craved since I was a teen, and then the reality hits me like a brick to the head. This is going to crush my parents when this ends with Patrick, and I’ll be blamed, and then I’ll be back at square one. Tears threaten, and I need to make an excuse to leave before my mom notices.

“Mom, I’m so sorry, I forgot. I have a meeting with a client. Let me know about the salon appointment.”

I enter the apartment, and it's eerily quiet. I head for Ali’s room, dropping my purse on the small entry table beside our front door, and kick off my heels. Her room is dark, the drapes pulled, and the room is cluttered with clothes but I see her blonde hair peeking out from under her comforter.

I kneel beside her, brushing the hair that covers her face away. She stirs, and when she moves, I notice how pale she looks. This is the third day she’s been in bed, and it’s so unlike her.