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Before I can respond, the door swings open, and Marcus strides in with a bottle of amber liquid in one hand and a grin that fades the moment he gets a good look at me.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asks, stopping dead in his tracks. “You look like shit.”

I set my coffee mug down on the counter with a grunt. “Good to see you, too, asshole.”

His eyes never leave my face, taking in the week-old beard I haven’t bothered to trim and the dark circles that have become permanent fixtures under my eyes.

“Seriously, what the fuck happened to you?” He sets the bottle on the counter. It’s a bottle of some fancy rum from Fiji, no doubt a souvenir from his honeymoon with Lainey. “I’ve been gone for two weeks, and you look like you’ve been living under a bridge.”

The concern in his voice grates on my nerves.

I’m not used to being on this side of the conversation. For years, Marcus was the brooding one, the guy who needed pulling back from the edge. Now, he’s happily married, and I’m the one falling apart over a woman. The irony isn’t lost on me.

“Nothing happened,” I lie, standing to pour coffee I don’t want. “Just been busy.”

Marcus snorts and helps himself to a mug from my cabinet.

“Bullshit. I know what ‘busy’ looks like on you. This isn’t it. What’s going on?”

I consider brushing him off again, but what’s the point? Marcus knows me better than anyone. He’ll see through whatever excuse I come up with.

“I met someone in San Diego at your wedding.”

“Must have been some woman to turn you into a caveman in just two weeks.”

“She was. We spent the night together.”

“And?” Marcus prompts when I don’t continue.

“And nothing. She was gone before morning. No number, no address. And she lied about her name.” The anger I’ve been suppressing bubbles to the surface. “Elizabeth. That’s what she called herself.”

“Wait, was she the woman from the bar? The one you couldn’t stop staring at?”

“Yep.”

I shouldn’t be surprised he remembers her, but I am.

“Damn.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “So you had a one-night stand with a woman who gave you a fake name. That’s happened before. Why is this one different?”

The question hangs between us, demanding an answer I’m not sure I have. Why is she different? What makes Elizabeth, or whatever her real name is, the one woman I can’t get out of my head?

“I don’t know.” I run a hand through my hair. “There was just something about her, you know. Something that felt...”

“Right,” Marcus finishes for me, his expression softening with understanding. “Like Lainey felt for me.”

I nod, grateful that he gets it without me having to spell it out.

“I hired someone to find her.”

Marcus’s eyes widen. “Damn, Reign. That’s...”

“Fucked up? Obsessive? Trust me, I know.” I push away from the counter and pace the length of the kitchen. “I can’t explain it. I just need to know she’s okay.”

“And if she is? Then what?”

The question stops me in my tracks.

What then? What do I expect to happen if I find her? That she’ll fall into my arms? That we’ll ride off into the sunset together? I’m forty-four years old, for fuck’s sake. I don’t believe in fairy tales.