Page 15

15

KIT

I ’m spray-tanned, my nails are done, and my hair is blown out. My mother’s had a strapless red satin dress delivered to the apartment for me and it fits like a glove.

If this was anything but her birthday party, though, I’d tell them I was under the weather and stay curled up in bed.

I don’t want to put on the dress. I don’t want to do my makeup. I don’t want to sit around with all Mom’s friends while they grill me about a future that’s now entirely uncertain.

I can’t tell them it’s over with Blake before I’ve passed on that information to him. And I’m not going to announce my intention to return to medical school when I’ve got no idea if I can get back in.

Blake calls while I’m getting ready. He’s in a car, and I’m on speaker. As usual, I’ve got half his attention, if that. He’s cursing at another driver, asking me to hang on for a second while he puts someone else on hold. I hate when he does this normally because it makes me feel like I’ve got to rush. Tonight, I’m just grateful.

“Hey, I’ve got us reservations Monday night, after my flight gets in,” he says when he comes back to the call.

I’d hoped to just end things, but I can’t think of a reason to tell him I won’t be available, which is exactly how Tuesday girls are made—by agreeing to go to the dinner you don’t want to be at, by letting your mother turn you into her personal American Girl doll, by politely saying things you don’t mean to all of her friends.

Maybe my life has been a succession of Tuesdays simply because I didn’t want to tell anyone no .

The heels are already pinching my feet as I go downstairs to hail a cab. The dress is too cold for the weather, even with a wool coat draped over my shoulders.

Once I’m finally inside the car, I open my phone and look over the pictures from Kilimanjaro, the ones I hid.

Miller, grinning at Uhuru Peak. Miller, smiling at me with a sea of clouds behind him at one of the lower camps. Miller in our tent, holding candy out of my grasp. Miller, walking ahead of me while he talks to Gideon.

I swallow hard. Those days with him felt like Saturdays. I’m not sure I’m ever getting them back.

The cab deposits me at the club, and I hand my coat to an attendee before I head to the reception desk. “Hi,” I say. “There’s supposed to be a room reserved for my mother’s birthday? It should be under the name Dalton?”

“Kit,” says a man’s voice, and a shiver runs up my spine.

It sounds like Miller. Miller, walking up behind me as we ascend to the next camp, Miller, cutting in so that I can’t slow dance with Adam.

I turn…

And find Miller standing there, all serious hazel eyes, and perfect mouth, and tall enough to make me feel small by contrast.

He’s got a day’s beard and isn’t at all dressed for this occasion or any other that might be hosted here. He’s wearing worn jeans and a T-shirt, with a down jacket over the top.

He looks exhausted and unshowered, and I’ve never seen anything as lovely. He grabs my hand and pulls me into an oak-paneled hallway to the left, then turns me to face him.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, glancing around us to make sure no one’s exiting the surrounding rooms. “You’re supposed to be on a safari.”

He exhales, pushing a hand through his hair. “I thought you said you were going to end it with Blake.”

“ What? ” It’s bizarre that he’s here, bizarre that he hasn’t answered a simple question. “I am, but he’s out of town, and unlike you , I don’t dump people by text.”

He smiles. “Ah, there’s the acid tongue I’ve missed so much.” His gaze moves over my face and pauses, briefly, on my cleavage before darting back up. “You look a little different than you did a few days ago.”

“Well, I looked horrible a few days ago,” I reply. “It’s harder to get away with it here.”

“You looked beautiful,” he says, holding my gaze. “You looked beautiful there, and you look beautiful here.”

I lean back against the wall, breathless. It packs exactly the hit I expected it would, having Miller West tell you you’re beautiful and staring at you as if he’s never meant anything more.

And somewhere upstairs, my sister is waiting. He probably said it to her too, once upon a time. She probably daydreams about this very moment and still feels the way it made her heart twist with want, the way it does mine.

“Why are you here?” I ask again. “My whole family is upstairs.”

He swallows. “That’s why I’m here. I don’t know if I should even be telling you this, but Blake is going to propose tonight.”

I stare at him. “ What? No, this is just a thing for my mom’s birthday.”

“According to your dad, it’s all a ruse. And the press is here to capture the moment along with your family and Blake’s.”

I shake my head. “That’s…no. My dad must’ve been pulling your leg. My mother would never give up that much attention, not on her birthday, and I just talked to Blake like an hour ago. He was still in Vegas.”

“Kit,” he says, “come on. Do you have any actual proof that he’s still there? I’m telling you right now…your father is upstairs, texting me one dire warning after another about this.”

My stomach drops.

All the primping. Even for my mom it was over the top…the spray tan, the nails, the highlights. She wasn’t preparing me for her birthday. She was preparing me for engagement photos .

“Fuck,” I whisper, holding a hand to my throat, where my pulse gallops. “I don’t know what to do.”

Miller’s jaw flexes. “You get the hell out of here. That’s what you do.”

I shake my head, torn between fleeing and accepting my fate. “If Blake organized this whole thing to propose, I can’t just…not show. He’d be so embarrassed.”

Miller reaches out, placing a hand on my bicep. I shiver at the contact. “Exactly. And then he proposes, and you won’t want to embarrass him there either, and it’ll get harder and harder to dial it back. You said your mother already has this wedding half planned, which means she’s going to make it impossible for you to extricate yourself.”

He’s right. That’s how it’s always been with both of my parents when they want something. The cost of ending the relationship will only grow greater and greater, more and more excruciating. And my mom probably knows that Blake and I aren’t a good fit, and that I was not completely sold. She’s trying to get my signature on the dotted line before I come to my senses and walk out of the negotiation.

I could leave, but my mom, Maren, and Blake all have access to my apartment. I don’t think there’s anywhere in the city I could hide for as long as I’d need to while the dust settled.

“You didn’t have to blow off your safari. You could’ve just…called me.”

Something shifts in his eyes, a shutter closing, as if he’s scared I’ll see what is roaming around in his brain if I look too closely. “I was worried a call wouldn’t be enough. That your mom or someone else would guilt you and guilt you again until you found yourself engaged.”

I am not someone who gets bullied, but my mother would’ve tried to convince me I was being crazy, or that it was cold feet, or told me that this had been planned for weeks, and not showing up at the party would be atrocious. There are a million ways she could manipulate me successfully, and I guarantee she’d attempt every one of them if she had to, while the man in front of me just gave up a safari he’d always wanted to go on—after giving up the excursion he’d planned—all for me. Even Rob, as wonderful as he was, wouldn’t have done that.

“Jesus,” I say, rubbing my temples. “I don’t know how to get out of this. They knew I was on the way here. There’s no way to now tell them I can’t make it.”

“I have a house,” he says. “Starfish Cay. In Turks and Caicos.”

I blink. “That’s a weird flex in the middle of this conversation.”

He gives me a halfhearted smile “It wasn’t a flex,” he says. “It was an offer. We can leave straight for the airport right now. Text your mom; tell her you got sick. Say whatever you have to before they suck you in for good.”

“So I’d be going there…with you?”

“If you want me along, yes.”

Our gazes meet. I picture a few days alone with him in Starfish Cay. White sand. Clear water.

“As friends?” I ask, though in my head I’m already picturing a big, soft bed. His weight above mine.

“If that’s how you want it,” he says.

I glance away. That’s not how I want it, but that’s how it will have to be, for Maren’s sake. “Yes, as friends.”

“Fine,” he agrees. “Nothing more than friends, no matter how hard you beg.”

I laugh. “Let’s be realistic. If I begged, you’d give in.”

“Fair enough,” he says, his grin brighter than the chandelier overhead. “I’d like to point out that you are taking this conversation back into the territory of one we’d have if we were going to have sex.”

“We aren’t,” I insist.

He lifts his shoulders. “Don’t even want to.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“Kit, you’re doing it again.”

“Okay,” I whisper, looking around me. “Do I go pack?”

He hesitates for only a second and then shakes his head. “I think the important thing is that you get the hell out right now. We can go straight to the airport, get on a flight, and figure it out when we arrive.”

I look down at my strapless, red satin dress and four-inch heels. “I’m gonna look pretty weird on the beach in this.”

He bites down on a grin. “We can buy clothes there, and I’m guessing your father would pay a top designer to personally come outfit you if it meant you weren’t going to be marrying Blake.”

He’s right once again. All that matters at the moment is getting out of New York City before my mother can guilt me into changing my mind. And now that it’s decided, it almost feels as if I was being held captive. As if I’ll be chained to Blake’s side if anyone sees me here.

I was a willing participant two weeks ago. Now marrying him seems like a fate worse than death.

“I need my passport,” I say frantically, looking around us. “It’s still in my bag from the trip.”

“I’ve got a car waiting outside. We’ll swing by your apartment on the way, but I’m giving you five minutes or I’m coming in after you.”

I smile at him. It’s the exact sort of bullshit misogyny I’d have lashed out at a week ago. Now I’m simply glad that someone else has my back.

We get my coat—there are no familiar faces in the lobby, thank God—and rush out to the car. Even inside it, I still don’t feel as if this is behind me—as if a SWAT team might descend from helicopters at any moment—and I have no idea how we’ll pull this off regardless since most flights to the Caribbean leave New York earlier in the day. “Can we even get to Turks and Caicos this late?”

He grins. “We’ve got a flight. You might not love it, however.”

“Oh God, you’re not making me fly coach?”

He tugs a lock of my hair. “No, Kitten. I wouldn’t dream of making you fly coach, and we were too likely to be seen at the airport if we flew commercial. We’re taking your dad’s plane.”

I sigh, though I’m smiling. “He is such a meddler. And right now, he’s probably back at the party, acting just as shocked and surprised as everyone else that I’m not there.”

“I’m sure he’s criticizing your tardiness the most of anyone,” says Miller with a laugh. “And blaming your mother.”

We pull in front of my apartment and I race upstairs to grab the purse I flew home with. I contemplate grabbing the ashes from my luggage but for some reason it feels wrong, bringing Rob along for this. I’m not sure why.

I lock the door and rush back to the car.

He glances at his watch. “Under three minutes. I’m impressed.”

I raise a four-inch Louboutin in the air. “I wonder how these will fare in the sand.”

He grins. “You’ll be the sexiest girl on the beach.”

“That went without saying,” I reply, just as my phone starts buzzing in my lap—multiple texts landing at once.

Mom

Where the hell are you?

Maren

You’d better not be in bed.

Charlie

Your sister and your mother are hyperventilating. It’s fascinating to watch.

Dad

Your mother is making a scene, Kit. Please reply.

I reply to the entire family at once, telling them I got sick in the cab and had to return home. I guess they’ll tell Blake. I wince at the idea of him in that room, excited for this big night. I remind myself that he’d probably start scrolling on his phone two seconds after I said yes .

My mother calls, and I turn the phone face down in my lap and blow out a breath.

Should I be doing this? Should I be leaving? It’s shitty. It’s so shitty. My mother will be upset, and she’ll need someone to fix this. Normally that person would be me, but I’m not there. And Blake isn’t a saint, but I guess he did plan this thing, and…

“I know you’re feeling guilty,” Miller says softly, “but if Blake knew the first thing about you, he wouldn’t have done it like this. Or even worse, he does know you well enough and realized this would force your hand because you wouldn’t want to embarrass him.”

He squeezes my hand and I squeeze his back, examining his angular jaw, his lovely mouth. Miller would know better than to subject me to a public spectacle with the press there to capture it. When he proposes to his future wife, it will be a special moment, intimate, and even if a hundred other people are watching, he’ll make sure it’s something that belongs just to the two of them. My heart squeezes tight in my chest.

“Maren says you’re dating Cecilia Love,” I say, removing my hand.

He laughs, running his fingers through his hair. “And you thought your sister, who I haven’t spoken to in ten years, would have more up to date info than you , who just shared a tent with me for five nights?”

A smile starts to move my mouth upward. “Just because we’re sharing a tent doesn’t mean you’re telling me everything.”

His gaze falls to my lips. “True, but I’d have told you that one. I dated Cece for a month, tops, and it was over a year ago.”

I glance away so he won’t see how relieved I am. I have no business being relieved. We’re only going away as friends. Former tentmates. He’s sharing his tent and I’ll share my snacks. Nothing more.

My phone begins buzzing again. I reluctantly turn it over.

Mom

You can’t possibly be THAT sick, and if you miss my birthday, I’ll never forgive you.

Maren

Mom’s really pissed. You might want to come by for a few minutes.

Charlie

If a human head could explode, your mother’s would be exploding right now.

Dad

Get well soon, Kitty Cat.

Blake

Hey, I came to dinner to surprise you, but your mom is saying you’re sick. Just come out for a while. If you can climb Kilimanjaro, you can come to dinner for an hour.

I sigh and let my head fall back against the headrest. A part of me dreads ending things with him so greatly that I’m tempted to just…agree. Agree to marry him, have a big wedding, wait until he grows bored, and politely call it a day. “I really don’t know how to reply.”

“Kit,” Miller says, waiting for me to open my eyes and look at him. “If Maren was in your shoes, you’d snatch the phone out of her hand and type up a polite but firm response. Have your own back the way you’ve had everyone else’s for most of your life. Just do it.”

I guess he’s right. I pick up the phone, take a deep breath and begin to type.

Hey, look, I’m so sorry, but I don’t think this is working for me. It isn’t fair to you or me to keep pursuing something that doesn’t make either of us especially happy.

I hit send before I can take it back. Holy shit. I already can’t believe I went through with it.

“Done,” I whisper.

“How do you feel?” he asks, his gaze gentle on my face.

I shake my head. There are so many emotions inside me right now I can’t begin to tease them apart. “A little relieved. A lot terrified. I think he’s going to be mad. He’s going to be really mad, and hurt, and probably lash out and say a lot of mean shit.”

He briefly squeezes my knee. “Take a minute to consider the fact that you were about to marry a man who lashes out at a person he theoretically loves when his feelings get hurt.”

My phone pings, and my stomach ties into a knot.

Blake:

Are you fucking kidding me? I came here to PROPOSE and you’re breaking up with me? JFC, you are such a waste of fucking time. Fuck you. Good luck finding anyone who will treat you half as well as me, Kit.

Good luck finding anyone who will put up with your bullshit.

You know my entire family is here, and so is yours? I assume you just met someone else on your fucking climb. Apple doesn’t fall far from the whore tree, does it? You’re even worse than your mom.

“What’s he saying?” asks Miller.

“A bunch of bullshit,” I whisper. “Some of it true.”

“How would you reply if he was saying it to Maren?” he asks.

“The difference is that if he was saying it to Maren, it wouldn’t be true.”

“I guarantee it’s not true here either,” he says, grabbing the phone, and then an animal noise rumbles in his chest. I can hear it from a foot away.

“I’m going to beat his ass when we get back to New York,” growls Miller, his nostrils flaring.

I exhale. “He’s just mad.”

“No one speaks to you like this and gets away with it,” he hisses, typing.

“What are you doing?” I demand, reaching for the phone.

“Replying. Send it.”

Miller has typed, “The way you are handling this certainly convinces me I’ve made a mistake.”

I laugh. “You’re just making a bad situation worse.”

“It’s what you’d have said if you weren’t upset. Believe me, it would be a lot worse if it was coming from me, and it’s going to be a lot worse if I ever run into him. Send it. You’d do it for Maren.”

I would. I’d type it for Mare, just like he typed it for me. And before that, I’d have snatched the phone out of her hand just as he snatched away mine.

I hit send . Blake replies, calling me a fucking cunt, Miller demands to see the phone and this time I don’t hand it over because I’m worried Miller’s going to have them turn the car around. I just delete it and block Blake’s number.

The way I’d do for Maren. The way Miller would do for me.

“Done,” I say, and this time, when my eyes fall closed and my head rests against the back of the seat, all I feel is relief.

“I would like to point out that you just dumped someone by text,” he says, and we both start to laugh.

* * *

We are greeted on the tarmac by a young, nervous kid who hands us two small suitcases. “Just some clothes and toiletries,” he says, “courtesy of Elite .”

One of my dad’s magazines. I imagine he asked an editor for help, and that editor pulled some low-level employee out of a wedding or her own baby shower to rush around, gathering clothes for us.

“I had nothing to do with this,” says Miller, his brow furrowed.

I shake my head. “Believe me, I know. My guess is when you see the skintight vinyl pants and vest combo they packed for you, you’ll wish they hadn’t gone to the trouble.”

“I happen to love vinyl pants on the beach,” he says, plucking my suitcase out of my hand before we climb the steps to the plane. “One of many fun facts you’ll soon learn about me.”

We each take a plush leather seat and when I glance over at him, a couple feet too far away, my heart pounds in my throat.

I love his cheekbones. I always have. I love the sharpness of his jaw. I remember learning about the gonion—the exact point where the vertical and horizontal ramus of the mandible converge—and even then, it made me think of him. I love his dimple. I love his laugh. I love the way his hair starts to curl when it gets a little too long, the way it is right now, and how much darker his facial hair is than the hair on his head.

I love everything, and now we’re going to be alone together, in a house and…I’m too warm, and my pulse is too fast, and there’s a tight knot in my stomach because…

Holy shit. What am I doing here? I can’t go away to the Caribbean with Miller West.

I can’t. This is fucking insane and…

He narrows one eye. “What’s going on over there, Fischer?”

As always, he’s picked up on my change of mood before I’ve entirely figured out how and why it’s changed.

“I don’t know,” I say, swallowing. I look around us frantically. The engine is on, the flight attendant is buckling herself in…we’ll be taking off any second now, and I think maybe I’ve made a terrible mistake.

He crosses over to the seat beside me.

“It’s gonna be okay, Kit,” he says. “Deep breaths.”

“Maren would never forgive me if she found out,” I whisper.

That muscle in his jaw flickers. “She won’t find out, and you’re not doing anything wrong.”

“That would be more convincing if you didn’t keep looking at my rack.”

He cracks a smile. His dimple is all the reassurance I could ever seek. “Resolving to take this trip as friends doesn’t magically erase my interest in breasts.”

I laugh. “I guess that’s fair.”

“And you’re sure not trying to hide them in that dress.”

I elbow him. “Now you’ve gone too far, tentmate.”

He buckles himself in and pulls out his phone. We watch 30 Rock for most of the four-hour flight and while I’m all too aware of my own phone, currently turned off and tucked in my purse, I don’t pull it out. No doubt it’s now full of irate messages from multiple family members and if I read them now, I’ll lose my nerve. I’ll direct the plane straight back to NYC.

I’d be resigning myself to more than an argument with Blake and emotional blackmail from my mom.

I’d be agreeing that a lifetime of Tuesdays is okay….and it’s really fucking not.

* * *

We land on a private airstrip a little after one in the morning and climb down the stairs into a balmy, breezy night. Even if this was a terrible idea and winds up going drastically off the rails…there’s no place I’d rather be, and no one I’d rather be here with.

A waiting car drives us less than a mile to an isolated white cottage that sits right on the sand, surrounded by nothing but a few squat palm trees. Somewhere nearby, waves are lapping gently against the shore.

Miller thanks the driver, grabs the bags, and leads me to the front door, where he quickly presses a key code to let us in.

The door opens directly into the kitchen and living area, which are clean and white, with a soaring, exposed-beam cathedral ceiling, and doors that look out toward a deck, a small pool, and the moonlit ocean. On either side are what I assume are the bedrooms.

“This is amazing,” I tell him, my voice hushed.

His teeth sink into his lower lip. “I was worried you wouldn’t be all that impressed, given how much money your father has. He could probably buy the entire island.”

I shake my head. “I don’t like big places. This…is perfect. It’s the perfect size.”

His eyes catch mine and hold there for a moment too long, thinking something I know he won’t share. “I’m glad you like it. Just wait ’til you see the view in the morning.”

For all of my initial nerves and all the moments since we left New York when I’ve thought this might be a horrific mistake, I am one hundred percent certain now that this is where I’m meant to be.

“Let me show you to your room,” he says, walking toward the doors to the right and sliding them open. It’s nearly as large as the living room, with another exposed-beam cathedral ceiling and wood accents. A ceiling fan hangs over a massive canopy bed, and the entire ocean-facing wall is made of glass. The water is illuminated by a huge full moon. The view tomorrow will be incredible.

“You can lock the doors if you like,” he says, showing me how the glass panels on the ocean-facing wall slide open, “but it’s pretty safe here.” He points toward the bathroom. “I had some basic toiletries delivered, and we can get whatever else you need tomorrow.”

I sink onto the bed. “Miller…I don’t know how to thank you. For everything. No one else would’ve done all this.”

“I hate that it’s so shocking to you that someone finally has,” he says quietly before he walks out.

Once he’s closed the door behind him, I step out of my heels and open the suitcase. My father has had stylists pull clothes for me in the past, and it generally hasn’t worked out all that well. The outfits are either too high fashion, too uncomfortable, or way too skimpy.

This time, though, they’ve done okay. There’s a pair of flip-flops, some shorts, and a few sundresses and T-shirts.

And sure, the clothes are more revealing than anything I’d choose on my own, and there are enough negligees and silk thongs to last me a lifetime, but I can live with it.

I unzip the dress and hang it over a chair, remove my strapless bra, and slip on a negligée before I traipse barefoot to the blue-tiled bathroom, where a toothbrush, toothpaste, makeup remover, and face wash await.

I brush my teeth, wash my face, and climb into the big, soft bed, listening to the quiet roar of the waves and the buzz of insects.

This is the happiest I’ve felt since I left Tanzania.

I’m not going to think too hard about the common denominator in both.