Cammie? Texts? Suddenly I got it, my irritation with his stealing my phone and documenting my texts trumped by the fact that his stupid misunderstanding caused all of this. A gigantic spectacle over nothing. I laughed and waved my hand at Carter, hoping to dispel his panic, my words not coming out fast enough to stop this train wreck. “That’s not about me,” I scoffed. “It’s about Nicole.”

“Nicole?” Vic’s voice finally held a hint of doubt. He cocked his head at me, no recognition of the name.

“YES. Nicole Brantley, my boss? The star of the film you just financed?” I stopped myself before I wasted any more time than necessary clueing in a man who didn’t deserve an explanation to begin with.

I grabbed Carter’s hand, trying to make my next words clear enough to end this.

“Vic, go home. I am not pregnant. That text wasn’t about me. I’m not marrying you, we are over.” I spoke clearly, enunciating every word, hoping that Carter’s parents were following all of this.

“It was. You are—” He frowned, his dense skull still not getting it. “I saw the text messages…” he protested.

“About my boss,” I repeated, and I think he saw the truth in my eyes. “She’s pregnant. It was about her.”

“Not you?” He sounded almost disappointed.

“No.” I stepped away from him. “Go home,” I repeated, a little gentler.

I turned to Carter and noticed the crowd. Still watching, still listening, their faces rapt, their phones out, probably Periscoping the whole thing. My eyes dragged over them and I tried to remember what I had just said, how loud I had said it, and my stomach dropped.

Suddenly, I felt queasy. But it didn’t have anything to do with being pregnant and everything to do with the fact that I might have just broken Nicole’s pregnancy, and her affair, to the world.

81. The Worst Kind of Goodbye

I ignored the crowd and stepped close to Carter, wrapping my arms around his neck. I whispered an apology into his ear and pulled him down for a kiss.

He resisted, his mouth stiff when it connected with mine, his hands wooden on my hips, and I had a moment of desperation before he softened. When his mouth finally yielded, fingers digging into my waist, I sighed against his kiss.

There was a loud clear of a very old throat, and Carter pulled his head up, our kiss breaking. We turned and saw his parents, twin visions of disapproval, both staring at me as if I were the devil.

“I’m afraid I don’t feel up for seeing the building after all,” his mother said stiffly. “All of this has left a rather bad taste in my mouth.” She gestured to the light show, which was still running, a hundred-foot image of Vic and me kissing now front and center. It would have been funny if I’d been an innocent bystander. Now, with the image towering above us, on the side of their building … it was terrible.

“Goodnight, Mother.” Carter didn’t apologize, and I knew I should step forward and say something … the right thing, something that would put all of this behind us.

I drew a complete blank. I tried to hug the woman, and she stepped back. I revised the approach and held out my hand to his father. He shook my hand quickly, pulling his palm back as if I was diseased. “I’m so sorry,” I said helplessly. “I’m really not pregnant.”

Wow. If there was a list of things you didn’t want to say to your boyfriend’s parents during an initial meet-and-greet, that would be it. I’m really not pregnant. Super classy stuff. I tried again. “It was nice to see you both again. Maybe we could have lunch next week.”

“I don’t think so,” his mother sniffed. Ouch. You’d think, given my night, she could have let me down gently, hid at least some of her disdain.

I watched as Carter hugged them both, and then they left, practically running to an awaiting car, the tires almost screeching on the pavement in their haste to head back uptown.

My stomach dropped as I watched them go, and I wondered if this was IT. The end of everything—my job, my apartment, and my relationship.

82. Finally Saying the Words

The crowd dispersed, someone turned off the Chloe lightshow, and Vic sped away with a glower. Carter and I made it to my door, and then just stared at each other: two awkward people with no clear direction.

“So,” he finally said.

“Yeah.” That was my brilliant response. I felt too tired and too emotional to discuss it all. A part of me was still upset about his lies, or omissions—the fact that he never told me that his parents owned the building we lived in, that he’d grown up just as pampered as I had. Along with being tired, I was vulnerable, rubbed raw by Vic’s public display of affection—an incredibly romantic proposal from a man I had once loved deeply.

“I’m gonna head in,” I finally said.

He didn’t like that. His mouth tightened, his hand came up and yanked through his hair, a sigh hard off his lips. “Chloe,” he said, and it was the end of the sentence, neither of us eloquent.

“I’m going to bed.” I unlocked my door and hoped he’d stop me. Rolled the strap of my purse over my shoulder, and gave him a moment of opening, plenty of time for something to be said. But he stayed quiet, and I stepped inside, then the door was shut and I was alone.

Truly alone.

Vic was fully gone from my life. I had seen it in the sag of his shoulders, the moment he had finally understood that I wasn’t his responsibility anymore. It saddened me that he’d gotten excited over the idea of a baby. That he had planned that big proposal with the thoughts that we could start a family—a life—together. Six months ago, it would have made my heart sing. Of course he’d assumed it was a Worth child. That was the type of man he was. Confident that, in the race of sperm, his would always win. But something had died between us, out on the street. Maybe it was the public humiliation of my snub, maybe it was seeing me turning to Carter and physically choosing between the two of them—I don’t know what it’d been, but something changed. I searched for feelings of regret, but there was none, only relief at the end of that chapter.

It made me a little nostalgic, a big chapter of my life to close, a chapter in which I changed a lot, grew up a lot.

I skipped a shower and changed into pajamas, crawling into bed, all of the lights off, the television dark. I lay there for a long time, waiting for sleep, trying to drown out my thoughts, so many what ifs floating through my head, trying to find places to settle.

I hoped for his knock, and when it came, I was out of the bed and ready, swinging open the door, my voice quiet considering the screaming of my heart.

Carter stood there, pajama pants low on his hips, his shirt off, every muscle on his torso tense as he stopped mid-knock. He looked at me and said nothing.

I stepped back and waved him in.

That night was one of our first without sex. He pulled back the covers and climbed in, pulling me beside him and close to his chest. Hugging me tight, his arm around my chest, his legs hooked through mine and he said only one thing, his breath against my neck, his heart beating a hard rhythm against my back.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” It was my first time saying the words out loud, and they almost rushed from my lips. His arms tightened a little around me, and I felt the relief in his grip, a moment of hold before we both relaxed. I fell asleep there, in his arms, the murmur of the city loud outside the window, my body warm in his embrace.