My skin was cooling now that my heart rate was subsiding, and the heat from the vents washed over my overheated skin, causing a sweat to prickle across my forehead.
I downed the second cup and quickly filled my third, chewing on the ice cube. I moved away from the cart and looked out across the handfuls of people talking in hushed voices in the lobby as I raised the refilled glass to my lips.
Deja vu hit me with the power of a freight train.
Across the room, my eyes locked with a vibrant green pair belonging to a ghost. An absence my body would not forget. My heart skidded in its rhythm, sliding down inside its cage as I clenched my fingers tighter on the cup.
Fuck me.
He saw me. And I don't mean he acknowledged my presence.
No. When he saw me, he saw through me. My body sighed as his gaze pierced my corneas and rapped against my skull, plunging beneath the surface of the skin I wore. I imagined myself suspended over the lobby, observing the exchange of two souls meeting again for the first time in three years.
His name formed on my lips, but I refused to give weight to the word, even when the voices in my head hissed.
His lips, which had been opened in conversation with someone beside him, closed, and his jaw clenched. Watching his whole body adjust from a relaxed state to on-alert, sent a thrill through me, like I was watching someone vibrate with life.
I'd been addicted to many things in my life. I'd felt the nausea, anxiety, sweat, clammy skin, and other symptoms of withdrawal with a poignancy that would be difficult to forget, but not one symptom compared to the continuous ache I'd felt for the last three years. An ache for him. For Six.
I felt the rapid staccato of heartbeats.
thrum thrum thrum.
“Six,” the word spilled from my lips, my lungs compressed, as if expelling his name was an exorcism. It wasn't loud enough for him to hear, but I knew he did anyway.
Who are you now?
The first thought that popped into my head.
I miss you.
The second thought, and with it I felt a tug in my chest, as if someone had pulled on one of my ribs, fracturing it to make room for the expanding of my heart.
How can you still do this to me?
The third thought. And it hurt. You think you can go so long without the sight of something, until it's there, literally in the flesh, stealing your breath.
Green eyes stared at me as if they couldn't absorb the fact that I was there. Maybe I was projecting, because I realized that was my thought, too.
Do you still think of me?
The fourth thought punctured, and I let the hurt it birthed spread through me.
A history of bullshit dropped between us, and I was suddenly seeing him through a film of regret.
Did you ever love me?
The fifth thought made me breathless. My heart sped up, drowning out the sounds around me.
His neck shifted slightly, and I took in his appearance. He wore a five o'clock shadow and his dark hair was just long enough for the ends to curl. He used to shave his head so he was bald—a look I’d loved. But this, this look brought me back to when we’d first met. He looked good, despite the tension radiating off of his body as he digested my presence.
I still love you.
The sixth thought. The one I had been trying to suppress. I looked down at the floor and made fists with my hands hard enough to hurt.
When I looked back up, he was gone.
I searched the lobby for him, despite the voice in my head telling me to get the hell out of there. Three years had gone by. Three years since I'd held a knife to my wrist and threatened him, promising to carve his name into my skin if he didn't leave me.
A lot can change in three years.
I tossed the cup into the trash and walked out of the lobby, my sneakers suddenly so much louder now that they were no longer cushioned by expensive carpet.
The street was full of cars and people, the air filled with horns blaring and people laughing. I winced, the sound of their laughter piercing my eardrums.
Walking along the sidewalk, I looked up and down the street, searching for him. My eyes met a dozen pairs belonging to strangers, my nose inhaled cigarette smoke. But he wasn't there.
Resigned, I turned to walk down the street. Before I could walk ten feet, I felt his hand on my shoulder.
My stomach burned. My eyelids closed. My skin shivered. I spun around.
“Mira,” he said. That voice. It lived in my dreams, as an echo in my head. To hear it again grounded me while also causing my legs to shake.
“Six.”
The sidewalk was dark, the only illumination coming from the headlights as the taxis left the curb. I watched the light dance over his face in the dark.
“What are you doing here?”
My first time seeing him in years and these were his first words. Not, I've missed you. Not, It's good to see you. I jerked my arm from his grasp. “I live here, remember?”
His eyes narrowed. He wasn't happy to see me. Not that I could blame him. After everything I'd put him through, I didn't exactly expect him to toss confetti at me.
“I guess I forgot.”
He wanted to hurt me with that answer, but he didn't. “No, you didn't,” I said it with a sly smile and crossed my arms over my chest.
He opened his mouth to speak but closed it just as quickly, biting down hard enough to cause a tick in his jaw.
“What are you doing here?”
Six turned and looked back at the hotel like he expected someone to follow him. The slight tightening of his eyebrows told me that something—or rather, someone—was waiting for him. The dull burn in my stomach turned boiling hot in an instant and I resisted coughing on the acid that burned up my throat.
He faced me again, seemingly searching for words. Three years ago, I'd known him well enough that I thought I could read his mind. But as much as the last three years had changed me, they'd changed him more. I couldn't read him as easily as I once could.
He shook his head and blew out a breath. “Do you...” he glanced back at the hotel again. “Do you want to talk?”
I shrugged, nonchalance on my face. “Talk? Why? We don't need to talk.”
Before I knew what was happening, Six had clamped his hand on the crook of my elbow and was pulling me toward the hotel. A homey kind of warmth coated my entire arm.
“Let go of me,” I said through gritted teeth, struggling to yank my arm free. In a sick way, I was happy he was touching me, albeit not under these particular circumstances. I didn't want to be held by him unless he wouldn't let me go which, ironically, was what I was asking him to do.
Once he'd pulled me through the doors into the muted lighting of the lobby again, I shook myself from his grip. “What do you want?”
He glared at me, as if I'd been the one to manhandle him. “I want to see you, in the light.”
I knew what he meant when he said that. He wanted to see if I was high. And even though I wasn't, I still whipped around and stalked away from him, back toward the exit.
“Mira, wait!” he called.
I was pissed. I didn't expect that the first time we'd see one another after what had happened he'd talk to me like this. I didn't expect candlelight or soft music, but I expected to see a little bit of longing reflected in him. I didn't. In the bellows of my gut lived a tumbleweed of emotion, scratching against my insides as it begged me to speak.
Six wasn't feeling what I was feeling. My head was spinning, and I couldn't credit it to drugs flooding my system, because I was stone cold sober.
“William?” It sounded like music, that voice. I twisted my head around and saw a woman in a cream dress, with pale blonde hair spilling over one shoulder. She was facing Six, and I watched in slow motion as she brought one delicate hand to his forearm and rested long fingers on the fabric of his shirt. As my eyes slid up, I felt my stomach bottom out when she flipped her head, tossing those blonde curls over her shoulder and exposing her
face, all delicate bones and perfect skin.
I was darkness, and she was light. I was the monster who called to the blackest parts of your soul, luring you into danger. And she was someone to follow out of the shadows. Her grace was severe in its contrast to mine, with my deeply olive skin looking like I was permanently smudged with dirt against her cream and roses complexion.
Six was staring at me, despite this woman's hold on his arm. My eyes flashed back and forth, between Six and this goddess of a woman. The moment Six's eyes turned to her, hers turned to me.
With eyes like blue silk, she looked me over. The eyes were curious, questioning. And then she turned fully, facing me. “Hello.”
If her voice was an instrument, it would be a harp. Lovely, soothing. I didn't trust pretty things.
I didn't return her greeting and instead watched as she looked at Six again. “William, is she a friend?”
She didn't enunciate friend in any special way, as she probably should have. I imagined her saying something else: “William, is she the woman you loved down to your soul? The woman who took advantage of you and carved a hole in your heart so big that no one—not even I—can fill it?”
The lies I told myself gave me little comfort in that moment.
I took a demented sort of pride in knowing I had caused him pain. He may have moved on from me, but I knew that this woman with her soft hair, her silk dress, and skin free of blemishes could not fill the Mira-sized hole in Six's heart.
And not only that, she called him William. A name I knew he didn't go by. And she talked about me as if I couldn't hear her referring to me in the third person.
It's been three years since you saw him, Mira, the voice in my head reminded me with a subtle kick to my confidence.
“This is Mirabela Christy.” Six gestured to me, and somehow it still sounded like I was an animal in a cage, being discussed by the zoo attendees. I winced at his use of my full name.
“Mirabela,” the goddess purred, extending her hand to me. “I'm pleased to meet you.”
“Just Mira,” I said, ignoring her hand. I saw Six stiffen and ran a tongue over my teeth and repeated it. “Just ... Mira.”
“Mirabela is a beautiful name,” the goddess said.
I ignored her remark. We existed in different universes of beautiful. “And who are you?”
The goddess smiled, baring white, perfectly straight teeth. “I'm Victoria.”
“Okay.” A four-fucking-syllable name. That fit her perfectly. I had a four-syllable name, but I didn't employ it unless under duress.
The goddess gripped Six tighter and smiled wider at me. “Are you here to celebrate?”
I looked down at my sweaty clothes and was about to say, “Do I fucking look like I'm here to celebrate?” when Six interrupted. “No, she was just in the neighborhood, right?”
He was looking at me but holding onto her. This situation was weird, even for me. “I'm always in the neighborhood; I live here.”
Six's jaw clenched. Victoria cocked her head to the side. “How do you know William?”
I flicked my eyes to Six and saw the storm raging in his irises. “We're old friends.” One of my least favorite f-words: friends. What a shockingly incompetent word for what we were.
“Yes,” Six agreed. “Mirabela and I know one another from years ago.”
“Just Mira,” I repeated, placing significant enunciation on the word, “Just.” It was almost like he was wanting me to keep up the echo of “Just Mira,” in correcting him. If that was true, he didn't betray it in his eyes because he looked everywhere except at me.
“Well, you should join us, Just Mira.”
Six stilled at Victoria's words. Just. Our inside joke. This blonde goddess with her four-syllabled name and the body that was a polar opposite of mine was using our joke.
Fucking hell.
Victoria passed me a glass of champagne, and I held it up. “To what are we toasting?” I asked before bringing it to my lips and tossing the golden liquid back, not thinking, not waiting for her to answer.
Victoria exchanged looks with Six before answering. “Our engagement.”
I thought about the swirl that still sat in my home and imagined myself following that swirl all the way to the bottom.
He'd never wanted to marry anyone. He hadn't wanted to marry me.
But here he was. Getting ready to marry someone else.
I blinked at him, taking him in. Victoria turned as someone hugged her, taking her attention away from us. And I opened my mouth and said the words that would change everything, words he didn't deserve, but words I knew were still true. Words meant to hurt.
“How can you marry her?” I leaned in, saw a muscle in his neck jump, “When you're still in love with me?”
Acknowledgments
As always, the first line in my acknowledgements belongs to my family. This book has been a labor of love for four years. Thank you for not killing me during the eight complete rewrites.
To my people, the ones who were there during the process that was this book. I have so much more to say, but some things are private, and will be said to you in your signed copies. To keep it brief:
Sona Babani, for being there always. You inspire me so.
Jade Eby, my beebee, for giving me the strength I needed to finish.
Whitney Giselle Belisle, for your honesty and your enthusiasm, always.
Talon Smith, for giving me confidence and making me feel like this wasn’t total and absolute shit.
Samantha Nania, for being so accommodating and thoughtful with your comments.
Christina Harris, for saving my life and for lifting me up when I needed it so.
Kristen Johnson, for reading this in one sitting when I needed honesty.
Amanda Maria, for your honest feedback when I needed it and super quick turnaround.
Ginelle Blanch, for your selflessness in dropping everything for me, all the time.
Lex Martin, for everything, always.
Cynthia Aponte, for loving Six throughout the years.
Samantha Hanson, for being there when I really needed someone there.
I look at that list of names above and am taken aback by how incredibly blessed I am. This book would not be what it is without each one of you. I’m awed by you and grateful for your passion for this book and for lifting me up when I thought I’d fail. You are the reason this book exists. Thank you, from the bottom of my Mira-sized heart.
Thank you to Max Eremine and the beautiful photo, and for your graciousness. And Nadine, for allowing your image to grace this cover. Thank you, Naj, as always, for your incredible talent. And Nadege for making the print look phenomenal.
To Lizette, the world’s best book coach—wow. You gave me so many ideas that this book would be incomplete without. Thank you for the feedback and the help you gave me to build this. I’ll forever be grateful, and can’t wait for the next book!
To M* — you inspired so much of Mira and gave me the most profoundly valuable feedback. She’s as deep as she is because you helped me make her that way. Thank you.
Thank you to KP! If commas were worth ten cents, my books would cost a billion dollars before you got your hands on them. Thank, you, so, much.
Thank you, Jen, for getting my heroine when you wrote that poem. I love it so.
Thank you to Julia for your early comments, and to Cassie for pushing me as hard as you did. Even though things didn’t work out, I’ll always appreciate your enthusiasm and help.
A million thank yous to Linda with Foreword PR. Thanks for holding my hand through all of this, especially! And to Book Ends Tours, for giving me something new and exciting!
To the author groups who keep me sane: ST, DND, and TW. I’m so honored to be included in these groups and to have your support.
Thank you to my Barbetti Babes—I love each one of you so freaking much. If I could, I’d buy all of you tacos. Thank you for traveling far and wide to meet me at signings, and for giving me all the feels w
ith your love and support.
I have one million bloggers to thank, for going out of their way to pimp my books AND me! I value your support and your time, so I thank you for all the times you shared my books with your followers. I know many of you also gifted copies of my books to your friends and/or hosted giveaways for my books. I truly thank each of you. I am AWED by you. You give so much of yourself for authors like me, and I hope you know that you are so deeply appreciated.
Thank you to all my readers. One of the best things about being an author is the relationships I form with the readers who reach out. I love getting to know you on my Facebook fan page, in my reader group, on Twitter or Instagram or email and, if we’re lucky, in person at a signing or at an Applebees or on a London train or wherever we both happen to be. You rock my world.
Finally, thank you to my Savior and Lord, Jesus Christ, for giving me strength when I am weak. I was weak so many times while writing this book and was lifted each time by Your grace. Psalm 34:4
More Books by Whitney Barbetti
All books are available on Amazon
STANDALONES
The Sounds of Secrets
Samson & Lotte
The Weight of Life
Ames & Mila
Hooked (dark romcom)
X & Lucy
Ten Below Zero
Everett & Parker
The Bleeding Hearts Series
Into the Tomorrows (Book One)
Jude & Trista
Back to Yesterday (Book Two)
Jude & Trista
The He Found Me Series
He Found Me (Book One)
Julian & Andra
He Saved Me (Book Two)
Julian & Andra
About the Author
Six Feet Under (Mad Love Duet Book 1) Page 43
