Chapter 5

Ophelia's POV

For a few seconds, I didn't know where I was.

Sunlight came through unfamiliar windows. My mouth was dry, my head hurt, and when I tried to sit up, an ache through my body made me stop.

Then I remembered his voice.

Ophelia?

I turned my head.

The other side of the bed was empty. The sheet had been pulled flat, the pillow straightened. I put my hand there before I could stop myself.

Cool.

Of course he'd gone.

I drew my hand back and sat up slowly, holding the sheet against my chest. My dress was still on the floor. Beyond it, the bedroom door stood open, and I couldn't hear anyone moving in the suite.

I remembered coming upstairs. The room numbers had been impossible to keep straight. There had been an open door, a bed, the relief of finally lying down.

Then Finnegan.

My memories after that came in pieces. Some were painfully clear. Others wouldn't stay long enough for me to make sense of them.

I remembered telling him to let me go.

I lowered my eyes to my wrist. There was no mark I could see. I turned my hand over anyway, then let it fall into my lap.

My phone started vibrating.

It lay close enough to reach, the screen filled with Lisa's name. Beneath the incoming call were notifications I couldn't begin to count.

I'd promised to text her.

“Hello?”

“Oh, thank God. There you are.”

I held the phone away from my ear.

“Hey. Sorry.”

“Don't ‘hey’ me. I was about two minutes from calling the police.” She let out a breath. “You're okay, right?”

“I'm still at the hotel.” My voice sounded rough. I cleared my throat. “I'm okay.”

“Okay. Good. You scared the hell out of me, you know.”

I looked at the empty pillow.

“I know. I'm sorry. I really shouldn't have had that last drink.”

“Ugh, don't remind me. My head's still pounding. How's yours?”

“Awful.” I pressed my fingers to my forehead. “Could you talk a little quieter?”

She went quiet for a moment.

“Sorry.” Her voice dropped. “Did you get any sleep?”

I couldn't keep looking at the bed. I turned toward the windows instead. Beyond the glass, traffic was already moving through the streets, people getting on with an ordinary morning.

“Lisa… I didn't make it to my room.”

“Oh, honey. Where did you end up?”

“Someone else's room. I mixed up the numbers.”

“Please tell me it was empty.”

I closed my eyes.

“Not exactly. It was… someone we know.”

“Someone we know? Who?”

“Finnegan.”

“Finnegan Shaw?”

“Yes.”

“You're kidding.” A pause. “Wait. Are you still there?”

“Yes. We… talked.”

The lie came out too quickly. I pressed my lips together, wishing I hadn't said anything at all.

“Wow. Okay.” I heard the rustle of sheets as she shifted. “That's a lot to wake up to.”

“There was a mix-up. I didn't know he was here, and then…” I stopped. “It's complicated.”

There was more I could tell her. That he'd known me immediately. That six years hadn't made his voice unfamiliar. That I'd wanted to leave and hadn't been able to.

I wasn't ready to hear any of it out loud.

“Want me to come get you?” she asked. “I'm still upstairs. Just give me a minute to find my shoes.”

“No, stay there. I'm getting dressed. I'll be out in a minute.”

“Okay. But call me if you need me, all right? And next birthday, we're sticking to cake.”

I almost smiled. She was letting the rest wait, and I loved her for it.

Then she lowered her voice again. “Oh, wait. What about Ivy? Did she come up?”

I sat straighter.

“No.”

My daughter. I hadn't even checked the time.

James was taking her to school this morning. We'd arranged it before the party, when the worst thing I expected from an overnight hotel stay was a hangover. Ivy would have her backpack, her lunch, a hundred questions for him before they reached the car.

Had she asked about me?

I could picture her standing at the door, turning back because she'd remembered one more thing she needed to tell someone. She did that every morning. Usually I was the one waiting with my hand on the doorknob.

“Hey. You still with me?”

“He doesn't know,” I repeated. “I can't deal with that right now.”

I looked toward the bedroom door, suddenly grateful that the suite was silent.

Ivy had his eyes. More than that, she had his habit of studying an answer before deciding whether she believed it. Sometimes she'd tilt her head and ask me a question, and I'd have to look away for a second before I could reply.

I'd wondered what I would do if they ever met.

I hadn't imagined meeting him like this.

I wasn't ready for him to enter her life. Until this morning, I hadn't expected him to enter mine again.

For six years, I'd raised her without him knowing she existed. I'd found out I was pregnant after I left, when I was still trying to get through a day without reaching for my phone to call him.

I had been in love with him that last night. Whatever I'd told him, that much had never changed.

Then there had been an appointment, a confirmation, a future I hadn't planned for. My grandparents had helped me make room for her. Grandma had opinions about every baby name I suggested. Grandpa had assembled the crib, then checked it so many times I'd finally asked whether he planned to sleep in it himself.

Grandma had cried when she first held her. Grandpa had taken so many pictures of the two of them that I'd eventually asked for a turn with my own baby.

Sometimes his name appeared in medical news. Sometimes it was a business story, something about another success that seemed to belong to a world far removed from mine. I'd read enough to know he was doing well, then put my phone down before I could keep looking.

He'd become someone people wrote about. I'd continued my medical training, found work in neurosurgery, and made a home with my daughter. There were things about my life he didn't know either.

My gaze dropped to the bedside table.

An unopened package of emergency contraception sat beside a bottle of water. Next to them was a stack of hundred-dollar bills.

For a moment, I stared without understanding.

Then I pulled the sheet tighter around me.

“I need to go,” I said.

“Sure. Want to grab coffee before—”

“I'll call you later.”

“Okay, but text me when—”

I ended the call.

The bills were neatly stacked. So were the other things on the table. I couldn't stop looking at how carefully they'd been arranged, as though he'd been leaving instructions for someone he wouldn't be there to see.

He'd had time to do this before he left.

That thought hurt more than I wanted it to.

I got out of bed, moving carefully, and went to the table. The money looked like enough to cover two months of rent.

I hadn't asked him for it.

For a few seconds, I considered leaving everything exactly where it was. Let him come back and see it untouched.

But I knew what I wanted from him, and an empty space on a bedside table wouldn't give me an explanation or an apology.

Then I reached for my dress instead.

I dressed slowly. The fastening that had defeated me last night slipped into place beneath my fingers. I smoothed the fabric over my hips and found my shoes.

My bag was where I'd left it. I checked for my phone, then looked back at the money.

I picked up the stack.

I didn't know what he intended by leaving it. I only knew how it felt to find it here, with the bed still warm on my side and no word from him.

I put it in my bag.

He'd left it for me. I could take it without agreeing to whatever he thought it meant. For now, I wanted to get out of his room.

I hadn't regretted accepting his mother's check either. That money had paid for Grandma's care, given Grandpa some help, and made room for Ivy when I discovered I was pregnant.

What still hurt was remembering his face when I said I didn't love him. I'd known exactly what those words would do. I'd said them anyway.

But remembering that conversation didn't explain why he'd ignored me when I asked to leave last night. I wasn't going to turn the two things into a bargain in my head.

I pulled the zipper closed. There was still Ivy. There were six years he knew nothing about, and things from last night I hadn't let myself think through yet.

I couldn't deal with all of it standing beside his bed.

I checked the time again. I needed a shower and some sleep before my next shift at the hospital. Later, I would pick up my daughter. She would want to know about the party, whether there had been cake, whether I'd saved her any.

I would have to find an answer that didn't make my voice shake.

At the bedroom door, I looked back once.

I'd spent years wondering what seeing him again would feel like. I'd never pictured leaving him a second time without even knowing what to call what had happened.

I tightened my grip on my bag and walked out.