I see the car again. The tree. The twisted metal. My memories are razor-sharp diamonds. They cut me and make me bleed. But I’m also grateful for them. I hold them close. I’m thankful for everything that happened because it led me here. It led me to her.

I let my head fall against the metal frame of the cot and silently repeat my vow. The promise I’ve made to her every single day since she was born.

I promise I will always love you

I will always protect you.

I will do anything to keep you safe.

And I will never, ever let you go.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

SCOTT

SCOTT SPENT the entire flight dreading his arrival at Querencia. He worried about how Nina would greet him, how she might speak to him. He worried about how much Aurelia might have changed, and what new challenges she might present. Most of all, he worried about Emily. He felt sure Nina would have told him if anything had gone wrong; but then again, Nina was unpredictable.

He reassured himself that he’d know as soon as he saw her, that he’d read her like a book. And he did, though not immediately. The formal reception threw him off.

As the car rolled through the gates, Scott leaned forward, staring slack-jawed at the three smiling figures in cocktail gowns standing on the front steps of the family house. He almost laughed—was this a setup, or a performance of some sort?—but the sound snagged in his throat. He blinked, unsure of what he was seeing. There was Nina, his wife, all sharp angles and ice-blond hair, pure Hollywood in a strapless blue gown. But next to her, like a ghost, stood the old Nina, the girl he’d fallen in love with. She was soft, joyful, and full of life, wearing the olive-green dress he’d bought her all those years before, the dress he’d never seen her in. The memory strangled him.

But then the old Nina vanished and in her place was Emily, his sweet-vanilla employee, his one good choice. But she was different somehow: there was something in the spread of her shoulders, the length of her spine. Scott narrowed his eyes as the car pulled up. He craned his neck; he needed to see her face, read her expression. As his eyes finally met hers through the windshield, she lit up like a flare. Her smile was genuine, and Scott felt his joints come undone with relief.

Only then did he let his gaze drop to the smallest of the group. As always, Aurelia’s dark eyes were serious under her straw hat, her mouth a thin scratch at the bottom of her face. But there were subtle changes in her, too. Her skin was brighter, healthier, and Scott realized that she must have been outside a great deal more than Nina had let on.

He got out of the car, and the trio seemed to move as one, gliding down the steps to greet him. Contrary to his expectations, Nina put on a very convincing show. Smiling, she led him straight to the poolside for dinner, where a crude welcome banner swayed in the breeze. The table was set with candles in tall glass jars. The shrubs and pampas grasses were shot through with gold as the sun sank toward the ocean, and the pool glittered with silver ripples. If all of that wasn’t enchanting enough, she slipped a hand in his and their fingers interlaced. Instinctively, he gave her fingers a squeeze, but quickly jolted himself awake. He mustn’t slide into the fantasy. It was important to stay alert.

Both Nina and Emily fussed over him, pouring drinks and asking him the usual surface questions. How was his flight? How had his week been? Was he enjoying his meal? Would he like any more wine? They interacted comfortably, like old friends, and Scott let their chatter wash over him as he studied each of their faces. He had no idea what Nina was really thinking, but Emily was an open book: she was doing that nervous twittering bird thing again, talking nonstop and hopping from subject to subject. However, as dusk drew in and the wine flowed, she seemed to relax.

He watched her leaning back in her chair with her tanned legs crossed and her head tipped back, wineglass dangling from a floppy wrist. She was filled with a boldness he hadn’t yet seen. He was mesmerized by her mouth, the way her lips parted and rejoined, then stretched wide as she laughed. She and Nina seemed to be laughing a great deal. Scott struggled to remember the last time he’d made Nina laugh like that.

Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, he reached across the table and plucked a toothpick from a small dish, folding it into his palm.

From the other side of the table, Aurelia eyeballed him from behind a vase of lavender. He ignored her, cocking his head at Nina instead, hoping he would catch her eye and she’d let him in on the joke. Candlelight flickered over his wife’s delicate features, exaggerating her cheekbones. She was smiling, but he could see through it. Scott knew what her happiness looked like, and it wasn’t this.

Without once taking his eyes from his wife’s face, he took the toothpick between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand and quietly, secretly, inserted it under the middle fingernail of his left.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

EMILY

AFTER DINNER, Scott, Nina, and Aurelia all went up to the house together for a bedtime story, leaving Emily alone at the table. She sipped prosecco while she waited for them to come back, crossing and recrossing her legs and enjoying the feel of the green silk on her freshly shaved skin. She felt amazing: dizzy and starry-eyed and fuzzy at the edges. So, so happy.

“Well, I have to say, I’ve never seen the place looking so good,” said Scott, sauntering back down the steps and returning to his seat. Nina came floating after him with a strangely vacant look on her face. “You girls have been working hard.” He reached for the open bottle in the ice bucket and poured himself a glass.

Emily blushed, the prosecco popping on her tongue. “There’s still so much to do,” she said, turning to Nina with a grin. “And some days we make pretty slow progress, don’t we?”

“Don’t be fooled by all this we stuff. I haven’t done much at all,” Nina said, sitting down with her legs folded neatly underneath her. “Emily is a machine.”

Emily beamed. She had been working hard. The hedges were neater, the flowers brighter, and the grass greener. The driveway was spotless (she’d painstakingly raked the sand herself that very afternoon until not one petal or leaf remained), and both houses were glowing. Since arriving she’d not only been busy with the interior of the guesthouse, she’d also washed the mold from the brickwork, repainted the shutters, and put out new window boxes. The windowpanes sparkled, the steps were swept, and all the new additions artfully arranged in all the right places: a crisp doormat here, a bronze lantern there. On the lawn, a croquet set and brand-new outdoor furniture setting—white with mint-green cushions—now stood under strings of fairy lights. The whole place was now ready for its close-up.

Scott raised his glass. “Well, then. Here’s to you, Emily.”

“Oh, well,” Emily stammered, her cheeks warm. “Obviously it’s not all me. Yves has been working hard, too. I could never have installed that lighting system by myself, or dug the trench for all the wires.”

Scott paused. “Lighting system?” he asked, glancing at Nina. “Yves didn’t mention anything about that on the way down.”

Nina shrugged. “It’s just a few uplighters. The grounds are so dark at night.”

“How many?” Scott’s expression was polite, interested, but Emily detected a change in his voice.

“Oh, I can’t remember.” Nina’s eyes dropped to her lap.

“No, really. How many?”

Nina didn’t reply.

Emily looked at her, then back at Scott. “Fourteen, wasn’t it?” she prompted, proud of what they’d achieved. “Don’t worry, we were very thorough.”

Scott raised an eyebrow.

“It looks so good,” Emily said. “You’ll see.”

His black eyes sent a shiver of pleasure up her spine. She let her fingers drift over the folds of her dress, the seat of her chair, the wooden tabletop. She picked up a spoon and ran the curved metal over her forearms, her chin, her lips. Everything felt incredible.

She paid close attention to Nina, noting the way she swept her hand through her hair, the way she bit her lip when she was listening to someone. She copied her, trying the same movements out on her own body. She stole looks at Scott, telling herself not to gawk, but she’d now had far too much to drink and was admiring them both openly. They didn’t seem to mind; they were probably used to people staring. They were like movie stars: stunning but in a weird blurry way, like an optical illusion. They behaved like movie stars, too. It was like they were acting in a series of rapidly changing scenes: dark and brooding one minute, joyful the next. Emily thought of what she’d heard back at Proem: he hates her; you can just tell. Well, that certainly wasn’t the impression Emily was getting. They couldn’t keep their eyes off each other.