Amie braces on my shoulders and lifts off. She can’t look at me as she adjusts her panties and shimmies back into her skirt, tucking in her blouse and shrugging into her coat almost as quickly as she took it off in the first place. Her hair falls forward, covering her face, palms smoothing down her thighs, nails pressing against her knees. I settle a hand on her back and she shivers.

“Amie.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

She shakes her head. “Thank you for the ride.” Her breath hitches, her laugh sounds like a sob. “That was . . . I have to go. I need to go.” She grabs her bag and opens the door.

She’s gone before I can say anything else. And really, what can I say? I’m not supposed to have her beyond this even if I want her.

And I do.

I can still taste her. I can still smell her. I can still feel her even though she’s gone. Again.

Nineteen: New News

Amie

Life returns to normal in the month that follows car sex with Lex. Well, as normal as it can be with an estranged husband who still refuses to sign the goddamn annulment papers because he’s an egomaniac. Aside from that one small, annoying glitch, I’m managing fine.

Okay. That’s not 100 percent accurate. My job is good, great even. We’ve started a new series of tutorials that are similar to the ones I made with my mom a few years ago. Not only are they getting great traction for Williams Media, but I’ve also been put in charge of a fundraising event. I’m less than two months in and they’re already talking about giving me a raise and a promotion.

Aside from Ruby, yoga is my best friend, as is Pilates, spin class, and the new self-defense course I’m taking. The post-wedding fiasco rumors are no longer high priority in the pretentious gossip sphere, everyone seems to have moved on to the newest scandal. Pierce is now combing through the prenup I signed to see if we can’t find a way to force Armstrong to stop stalling.

Lex continues to stay on my mind. I dream about him, think about him, fantasize about him, and occasionally I stalk his social media profiles and then cry. But I haven’t messaged him and he hasn’t messaged me. I can’t blame him, considering the way I acted the last time I saw him, or the way I bolted after I rode him like my personal sex toy. I’ve wanted to reach out, but it’s not a good idea since I don’t want to give Armstrong any more ammunition against me, or a reason for new rumors. I need to put Armstrong in my past before I dive into anything else and I can’t ask Lex to be part of that. He doesn’t deserve to be dragged into my crazy.

Beyond that I still haven’t told my best friend that I slept with him. It’s an issue. A big one. I’ve declined three dinners with the Mills family over the past several weeks because I’m afraid Lex might be there. If I see him, I worry the same thing that happened in his car will happen again because I don’t have the willpower necessary to say no.

It’s girls’ night in, since Bane is out with his brothers watching sports, or playing sports, or doing something sporty, because that’s how Bane is. I hate how excited I am over the prospect of being separated from Lex by mere degrees. I also hate that I hope they find a reason to stop by here, even though it’s unlikely.

Ruby pours us both a glass of wine. She’s jittery tonight. Francesca, their illegal pet ferret, is curled up in my lap. She’s adorable, even if she’s a little stinky, and she makes my eyes itchy if I don’t take an antihistamine before I come over. Instead of sitting in the armchair, Ruby drops down on the other end of the couch.

“Are you okay?”

She’s seriously edgy. She keeps wringing her hands and then sitting on them.

“I have to tell you something,” she blurts.

“Is everything all right? Are you knocked up?” It’s entirely possible. She and Bane fuck like feral rabbits. I’d say ferrets, but I don’t actually know the fucking habits of ferrets.

“I’m drinking.” She holds up her glass and takes a sizable sip to assure me that she is not, in fact, knocked up.

“Right. Okay. So what’s going on? You’re kind of freaking me out here.”

“Sorry.” She fidgets some more. “I’m just going to come out and tell you.”

“Tell me what?” I worry it has something to do with Armstrong. He’s been quiet the past few days, not emailing or leaving messages at all. He’s also avoiding the calls from Pierce.

“Bancroft proposed.”

Thanks to my shock, it takes more time than it should before I’m able to open my mouth and make words come out. “Oh my God!” Bancroft is really the perfect person for her.

It breaks my heart that she looks legitimately scared to be telling me this. What’s worse is she has a right to be, because as okay as I try to appear most of the time, she’s the one who sees me fall apart over this whole thing, more often than I’d like. And I haven’t even told her what I’m really falling apart over. I try to keep my voice level. “When did he propose?”

She looks guilty rather than excited. “Don’t be mad, okay?”

I’m reminded of the conversation I had with Armstrong when I handed in my resignation. I wonder if he was right, that they were waiting for me to be okay, and if that’s the case, how off balance have I been this whole time? “I won’t be mad. How long ago did he propose?”

“Last week.”

My stomach feels like is in my throat. “Last week when?”

“Sunday. He took me out for dinner and then when we came home he strapped the ring box to Francesca’s back, it was weird and sweet.”

I laugh, because seriously, what an odd way to propose to someone, but it really is fitting for the two of them. Francesca brought them together. “It sounds perfect. Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

She’s sitting on her hands again. “I should’ve. I was going to, but then you had that bad day and I thought it might be better to wait awhile.”

I filter back through the past week. The last bad day I had came on the heels of an email from Armstrong citing his refusal to sign the annulment until we’d met to discuss the terms. I hated being in this constant state of limbo, with the person I didn’t want keeping me tied to him and the person I wanted completely out of reach. I missed Lex. I wanted to call him, see him, just be with him, but I couldn’t. Not here in New York, not while Armstrong refuses to set me free.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t share your excitement with me.” I don’t want to be sad right now. I want to be happy for my best friend, for the person who put aside her elation to shield me from my self-inflicted pain.

She pats my knee. “It’s okay. I know how hard this has been for you.”

I wave a hand around determined not to break down. “Let me see the damn ring!”

She laughs, her relief understandable since my emotions have been so tenuous lately, and holds out her hand. It’s stunning and exactly perfect for Ruby. It’s not a huge rock. Instead, a princess-cut diamond sits nestled in white gold, smaller diamonds encasing it and fanning out along the band. It’s unique and beautiful.

I skim the diamonds. “He picked this out on his own?”

“I think Mimi helped him a little.”

“It’s gorgeous. Have you thought about a date?” I wonder if it’s possible to have wedding PTSD, or to develop a phobia of weddings with how clammy my skin is.