Page 115 of Crazy In Love

“Tommy told me he loves you.”

Straightening again, I scrunch the napkin and glance around for a trashcan. “Tommy loves me? That’s sweet. A little inappropriate, considering youjustgot married. But sweet all the same.”

“No, stupid! Tommy said that Chris loves you. He told me last night, after I held my crying son to sleep because my son is autistic and doesn’t handle change very well. He was expecting a week with you, but you cruelly robbed him of that. That makes you inconsiderate and a child abuser.”

“For God’s sake.” I grab my purse and sling it over the crook of my arm, and leaving my carry-on where it is, I stride toward the closest trashcan I can find. “You’re laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?”

“It’s not thick enough until you’re back here in my living room. And just so you don’t change the subject too easily, I repeat: Tommy said Chris said he loves you.”

“That’s nice.” Be still, my stupid, aching heart. “Chris never told me.”

“Tommy said Chris said he was gonna move to New York to be with you.”

“He—” I skid to a stop, just eight feet from the trash can. “What?”

“Finally,” she growls. “Got your attention. Chris was planning to sell his house and use that money to buy an apartment in New York. He wouldhave given everything up for you, Fox. And he was trying to tell you, but then Booker turned up and ruined everything.”

“Chris wouldn’t come here. No chance.” I start moving again, frowning as I toss the wipe into the trashcan, and then I spin back and head toward the carousel.

Sadly, I arrive… to nothing.

I look to the man on my left, then to the guy on my right—yep, this is where I was—then I look down at the small speck of gum still on the floor. “Someone stole my carry-on.”

Alana falls silent for a beat. “What?”

“Someone stole my friggin’ carry-on! Dammit!” I grab my carousel-neighbor’s sleeve and yank him around. “Did you see who took my suitcase?”

He looks to the floor—no suitcase—then back into my eyes. Then he drags his arm from my grip and circles to wait elsewhere. So I turn to the dude on my right. “Did you see who took my suitcase?”

“They haven’t come out yet.” He snags his phone and accepts a call, but he gestures toward the not-yet-moving carousel. “They’ll come soon.”

“Someone stole your suitcase?” Alana questions. “Seriously?”

“I was gone for ten seconds!” I back up and cast my eyes around the packed airport, searching for the bright monstrosity amongst blacks and blues and grays. “Who took my suitcase!?”

“You’re going to get your ass arrested,” Alana snickers. “Don’t shout in a New York airport, dummy. You know better than that.”

“First my pen, and now my suitcase!” I want to scream. I want to sit on the floor and cry. Most of all, I want Chris to emerge amongst the other travelers and tell me he loves me.Choose me, dammit!“It’s gone, Lana. All my stuff.”

“And you didn’t check it, right? Are you sure you didn’t?—”

“Yes, I’m sure! I had it a second ago, but I walked away to put the gum in the trash. Now it’s gone.”

“Did you have anything important in it? Anything valuable?”

“Well…” I tear my purse open and mentally check off my things. Laptop. Wallet. Cards. Phone. Tampons. “It had my butt plug in it. And cookies fromthe bakery.Raya packed them for me to bring home.”

“Cookies and a butt plug?” she snorts. “Honestly, that sounds like a fun suitcase to steal. If I knew the chick beside me at the airport was packing that kinda stuff, I’d do everything I could to become her best friend. Shesounds fun.”

“Alana!”

“I feel for you,” she drawls. “So sad. Devastated. Someone stole from you. Those bastards.”

“You don’t sound sad at all.”

“I am,” she snarls. “Just not about the case. I’m mostly focused on the fact you’re leaving the freakin’ country in three days and moving to Rome! Buy a new butt plug and stop being such a friggin’ baby about the things that don’t matter.”

“He dipped, Alana! He left! He had a chance to say something,anything, but he didn’t. Then, instead of spending our last day together, he hid away and didn’t even say goodbye.”