He Will be My Ruin
Page 89
I bolted from my desk and ran for the office restrooms, but not before several people saw the tears streaming down my face and sent Dani in to check on me. Of course I used my dying mother as the excuse. How horrible am I! But I had no choice. I couldn’t tell her the truth.
It was wrong of Natasha to take this of him—he would hate it if he knew. It was probably also wrong of me to print it out, but I couldn’t help myself.
Natasha shouldn’t have taken it and Marnie shouldn’t have forwarded it, but I’m glad she did. It proves how easily personal, private information can spread. I’m glad we kept our relationship under wraps. Now there’s no one to question why we broke up.
I deleted all record of the photo from my possession, except for this printed copy. It’s helped ease my anxiety, helped me drift off to sleep. Almost more than the alcohol.
What if I can’t fix this, though?
I trace my finger over his image, sleeping so peacefully. “You are going to ruin me,” I whisper. God, I’m such a fucking mess.
I fold up the picture and tuck it into the secret compartment of the lockbox that Maggie got me for my birthday years ago—the most thoughtful present she’s ever given me—next to the wad of cash I’ve managed to set aside. It’s enough to cover rent and bills for December and January. After that . . . well, Maggie will come in and save the day, and there’s nothing Mom will be able to do to stop her.
I need to get ahold of myself. I’m usually pretty good outside the comfort of my apartment, forcing smiles with Ruby and Dani. But the depression has bowled me over. I reach for the full bottle, a new prescription that I filled this morning at the drugstore. I told my doctor that I needed a stronger dose, that this time it was bad.
But it won’t be forever, I promise myself. It’s going to get much better, soon, because I have made the discovery of a lifetime with this vase.
At least, I’m pretty sure that I have.
Cracking the top of the pill bottle, I pop one and wash it down with the vodka, even though I know I shouldn’t. It’s kind of like water for me anyway now.
The yellow rose petals and card that Jace sent me last week sit at the top of the box. I pull the note out and smile, reading the message. He still cares about me.
Yes, there’s still hope.
The buzzer rings, and I frown. I’m not expecting anyone tonight, and no one I know ever just drops by. Shutting the box, I force myself out of bed and hit the “answer” button on the wall.
“Hey, Celine. It’s me.”
My heart skips at the sound of Jace’s muffled voice. It’s late. Ten thirty on a Sunday night. “Come on up!” I slam the door lock release to let him through. And then I panic, checking my reflection to confirm that my face is indeed as puffy as I think it is.
There’s not much I can do about the puffiness or my bloodshot eyes or the fact that I’ve already had two too many drinks, but the tank top and sweatpants can be improved upon. I have just enough time to swap them for a cute nightshirt and my silk robe before I hear his knock.
I throw open the door.
He smiles, but it’s off. It’s the same smile he gave me the night he came here to confront me. Then, I was none the wiser. Now, it’s like I’m on eggshells. I won’t let it sway my determination, though. “Hey, come in.” I usher him in, not wanting to answer any questions from Ruby tomorrow about the man in my apartment. But she’s likely asleep at this point anyway.
“I got your message.” His gaze drifts over the apartment, settling on the far shelf next to my desk. I know why. It’s where my camera used to be hidden, back when I didn’t know Grady had used it to spy on me. Grady still hasn’t admitted to it, of course, and I haven’t gone to the police because then they’d see the video and I’d have to explain why Jace threw cash down on the table. It won’t end well for anyone.
“There’s no camera. I swear. It was just the one and it’s disconnected. You can check if you want; it’s in my desk drawer.”
Nodding, he turns to look at me, his eyes drifting down to where my robe sits parted slightly. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay. Do you want a drink?” I gesture at the bottle of vodka sitting out, my half-finished glass next to it.
“No. Thank you.”
I reach out to graze his forearm lightly, because I can’t help myself. “I got your flowers. They were beautiful. Thank you.” I already told him as much in a voice mail that he never responded to.
A frown flickers over his face, but he says nothing. “What is this Ming bowl you were talking about on your voice message?”
“Here. Come.” I hook my arm through his—because I need to touch him, I want him to remember how good this felt, how good this can feel again—and pull him over to the couch, where it sits in a box, waiting. I carefully pull the blue-and-white floral bowl out to show him. “I found it last weekend. It’s perfect for your mother. She’s going to love it.” I’ve never even met her and I know.
He turns it over to study the seal. “Is this authentic?”
I show him the certificate that Ling gave me, pressing my lips together to keep from grinning too proudly. “I would have had my friend at Hollingsworth appraise it, but I couldn’t get hold of him in time.” Hans would lose his mind if he knew I was going to that “hack shop” for appraisals.
I can’t read the look on Jace’s face. “Where’d you find this?”
“An estate sale in Queens. It was only thirty-five bucks.”
“This is . . . I don’t know what to say.”
That you’ve forgiven me. That you realize we’re too perfect together to let my past get in the way.
“You want to see something really amazing? Look what else I found.” I grab his hand and pull him to my desk, where the twin vase sits. “There’s this well-known story of a missing Qing Dynasty vase with a red dragon on it. Everyone believes that it’s been lost forever.” I tell him the story of the emperor’s twin boy and girl, and the phoenix and the dragon vases made in memory of them. “And these markings?” I use the excuse to hold his hand so I can trace his finger over the script. “I really think this is legit, Jace. I think I’ve made an insane discovery!” I can’t keep the excitement from my voice.
It was wrong of Natasha to take this of him—he would hate it if he knew. It was probably also wrong of me to print it out, but I couldn’t help myself.
Natasha shouldn’t have taken it and Marnie shouldn’t have forwarded it, but I’m glad she did. It proves how easily personal, private information can spread. I’m glad we kept our relationship under wraps. Now there’s no one to question why we broke up.
I deleted all record of the photo from my possession, except for this printed copy. It’s helped ease my anxiety, helped me drift off to sleep. Almost more than the alcohol.
What if I can’t fix this, though?
I trace my finger over his image, sleeping so peacefully. “You are going to ruin me,” I whisper. God, I’m such a fucking mess.
I fold up the picture and tuck it into the secret compartment of the lockbox that Maggie got me for my birthday years ago—the most thoughtful present she’s ever given me—next to the wad of cash I’ve managed to set aside. It’s enough to cover rent and bills for December and January. After that . . . well, Maggie will come in and save the day, and there’s nothing Mom will be able to do to stop her.
I need to get ahold of myself. I’m usually pretty good outside the comfort of my apartment, forcing smiles with Ruby and Dani. But the depression has bowled me over. I reach for the full bottle, a new prescription that I filled this morning at the drugstore. I told my doctor that I needed a stronger dose, that this time it was bad.
But it won’t be forever, I promise myself. It’s going to get much better, soon, because I have made the discovery of a lifetime with this vase.
At least, I’m pretty sure that I have.
Cracking the top of the pill bottle, I pop one and wash it down with the vodka, even though I know I shouldn’t. It’s kind of like water for me anyway now.
The yellow rose petals and card that Jace sent me last week sit at the top of the box. I pull the note out and smile, reading the message. He still cares about me.
Yes, there’s still hope.
The buzzer rings, and I frown. I’m not expecting anyone tonight, and no one I know ever just drops by. Shutting the box, I force myself out of bed and hit the “answer” button on the wall.
“Hey, Celine. It’s me.”
My heart skips at the sound of Jace’s muffled voice. It’s late. Ten thirty on a Sunday night. “Come on up!” I slam the door lock release to let him through. And then I panic, checking my reflection to confirm that my face is indeed as puffy as I think it is.
There’s not much I can do about the puffiness or my bloodshot eyes or the fact that I’ve already had two too many drinks, but the tank top and sweatpants can be improved upon. I have just enough time to swap them for a cute nightshirt and my silk robe before I hear his knock.
I throw open the door.
He smiles, but it’s off. It’s the same smile he gave me the night he came here to confront me. Then, I was none the wiser. Now, it’s like I’m on eggshells. I won’t let it sway my determination, though. “Hey, come in.” I usher him in, not wanting to answer any questions from Ruby tomorrow about the man in my apartment. But she’s likely asleep at this point anyway.
“I got your message.” His gaze drifts over the apartment, settling on the far shelf next to my desk. I know why. It’s where my camera used to be hidden, back when I didn’t know Grady had used it to spy on me. Grady still hasn’t admitted to it, of course, and I haven’t gone to the police because then they’d see the video and I’d have to explain why Jace threw cash down on the table. It won’t end well for anyone.
“There’s no camera. I swear. It was just the one and it’s disconnected. You can check if you want; it’s in my desk drawer.”
Nodding, he turns to look at me, his eyes drifting down to where my robe sits parted slightly. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay. Do you want a drink?” I gesture at the bottle of vodka sitting out, my half-finished glass next to it.
“No. Thank you.”
I reach out to graze his forearm lightly, because I can’t help myself. “I got your flowers. They were beautiful. Thank you.” I already told him as much in a voice mail that he never responded to.
A frown flickers over his face, but he says nothing. “What is this Ming bowl you were talking about on your voice message?”
“Here. Come.” I hook my arm through his—because I need to touch him, I want him to remember how good this felt, how good this can feel again—and pull him over to the couch, where it sits in a box, waiting. I carefully pull the blue-and-white floral bowl out to show him. “I found it last weekend. It’s perfect for your mother. She’s going to love it.” I’ve never even met her and I know.
He turns it over to study the seal. “Is this authentic?”
I show him the certificate that Ling gave me, pressing my lips together to keep from grinning too proudly. “I would have had my friend at Hollingsworth appraise it, but I couldn’t get hold of him in time.” Hans would lose his mind if he knew I was going to that “hack shop” for appraisals.
I can’t read the look on Jace’s face. “Where’d you find this?”
“An estate sale in Queens. It was only thirty-five bucks.”
“This is . . . I don’t know what to say.”
That you’ve forgiven me. That you realize we’re too perfect together to let my past get in the way.
“You want to see something really amazing? Look what else I found.” I grab his hand and pull him to my desk, where the twin vase sits. “There’s this well-known story of a missing Qing Dynasty vase with a red dragon on it. Everyone believes that it’s been lost forever.” I tell him the story of the emperor’s twin boy and girl, and the phoenix and the dragon vases made in memory of them. “And these markings?” I use the excuse to hold his hand so I can trace his finger over the script. “I really think this is legit, Jace. I think I’ve made an insane discovery!” I can’t keep the excitement from my voice.
