CHAPTER 83

The windowless room was supposed to be for privacy, a way to get this deal done and stave off exhaustion. I didn't expect it to be this hard. I was naive maybe Eddie has been in this industry for two decades, and he makes it look easy. I'm used to being able to make things happen myself. Army of one. "That's it. Wicked's ownership hasn't come back by now, they're not going to." I shove out of my chair. "If they do and you're not here to sign, this will be over," the lawyer weighs in. "Exclusivity will lapse, and everything we've worked on will be for nothing." He doesn't say all the money you've spent will be wasted, but it's implied. A knock comes at the door. "Yeah," I bark out. It opens a few inches, and a man appears with a silver cart covered with bottles. "Apologies, Mr. Adams, we customarily bring a bar for our VIP guests before dinner." I jerk upright. Dinner? "What time is it?" He tells me, and the blood drains from my face. I lean against the wall, flexing my hand. The scars have faded over the past three years since that night in New York changed everything. Now, my eyes crossing from fatigue, the white lines blur. The image etched in the broken skin-delicate black lines, twisting and weaving-remains clear and steadfast. The rose, its petals swooping over the back of my hand, its leaves stretching toward my fingers, its vines curling around my wrist. Emily. She's what matters. When things are going well, but especially when they're not. Fuck. I'm worried about doing right by artists I don't even know, but I'm not doing right by the most important person in my life. The truth of that rings through me. "I need to be with Emily." I roll down my sleeves and start for the door. While the bar attendant hurries to get out of the way, Eddie grabs my arm. He's as frustrated as I am. "Don't make this decision lightly. I know this is the last place you want to be right now. But sometimes the world is bigger than what we want, Timothy." I suck in a breath, my heart hammering as I step out into the hall for privacy. He follows. "I get it," I state when I turn back to face him. "You want this deal. You want Wicked because of what they did to you, and you want to shape the industry. But I've been working on something for years too." My throat is raw. "And she's standing out there waiting for me." Understanding dawns on his face, but I continue. "What would you do if it was Haley out there? Tell me you wouldn't say, 'Fuck the deal.' She's worth a million deals." He opens his mouth to argue but shakes his head. "You're right. If it was Hales out there, I would give up anything for her." I clap a hand on his shoulder, then dash down the hallway. As I sprint out the door of the villa, I hit her contact on my phone. It rings once. Twice. I hang up as I see Haley stalking up the path. Her mouth opens, but before she can speak, I hold up a hand. "I'm coming." I take off down the path, running in the dress shoes I put on during a break between calls. The sun's setting, and each second feels as if it takes hours. I'm reckless, urgently needing to be there. Because the stakes are so much higher than a deal. As I veer off the path and into the sand, my leather soles slipping with each stride, the memory of Emily telling me how badly she wanted to do this at sunset echoes in my head. I round the last outbuilding, and my chest eases a little when I see everyone there, torches lighting the way. Something's wrong. There's Harry and Jacob and Andie and Avery and Rica, standing with Sophia. Mason's baby stroller... "Where's Emily?" I pull up, panting. They're all looking at me. "She left." Jacob's the one to answer, and the heaviness in his tone has cold fear spiking through me. "Left," I echo. I look toward the horizon, my first awful thought that she's gone from the island even though it's impossible. From the way I grew up, my mind still works in absolutes when I'm panicked-all or nothing. Things and people are gone forever. "Sophia let Hugo out of his cage," Rica explains. "Emily didn't want him to get hurt, so she's going to the cove." She nods toward the ocean. "Wait. She went after a bird?" Emily has a soft heart. It's one thing I love about her, but even though I can't understand this, I need to fix it. "It's getting dark," says our attendant. "It's dangerous to be out there alone. I've radioed a boat." "How long will that take?" "Twenty minutes." "She's out there," I insist. "Get me a jet ski. A raft. Something." Impatience and panic claw at my throat. "How did you get there before?" Jacob nods down the beach and inland a bit-toward the stable. A string of horses is still tethered outside. Jesus.

The water licks at my shins, soaking my pants as the horse picks its way toward the shore. It's dark except for the flashlight attached to the horse's saddle. This is the last fucking place I thought I'd find myself, but I shove down my discomfort because there's something vitally important I need to do. Find my fiancée. I don't curse her out for going after a stupid bird. It's my fault. All of it. If something happened to her... No. I won't think about that. The cove's treeline looms ahead, a dark landmark I fix on as my stomach lurches. I guide the horse toward shore and slip off as we make it up onto the beach. The sand is packed under my feet, firm and steady. "Emily!" I call, grabbing the light from the horse and shining it ahead of me. "Six!" No answer. Her jet ski is tethered to the dock. Reins in one hand, I stagger up the beach, waving the light ahead. I've spent a lot of time with this woman in the dark. Searching for her, being with her, wanting her. Before her, the dark was loneliness, solitude, emptiness. I won't leave her in that now. So, I force myself up the beach, searching for what feels like hours. My phone doesn't have reception, and I curse. She must be out here, but knowing she's out of touch and I can't reach her is impossible. Every inch of beach feels hostile.