“Oh hi, Gina,” I say half-heartedly, unable to hide the disappointment in my voice.

“Mr. Rothschild wished me to let you know that he’s going out of town today and won’t be back for a week. He said that, in the meantime, you’re more than welcome to stay in the townhouse and use the estate on Long Island if you’d like to get out of the city for a change.”

The news is like a punch in the face. “I didn’t know he was traveling today. He didn’t mention it at all.”

“It’s a very last minute trip.”

“I see.” He didn’t even call to say good-bye. I guess I’m just a business deal for him after all. I knew this. I know this. It’s what I want. So why do I feel so shitty about this? Why does it hurt so much?

“Also, I’ve contacted a different real estate agent. Her name is Claire Michaels. She will be helping you from now on.”

I groan, remembering Lawrence’s anger from other night. “Gina … what happened to William? Please tell me the truth.”

“Don’t worry about it, Miss White. It’s all taken care of.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, I must get back to work, but do call me if you need anything. Have a good day.”

“Wait! Just one more thing.”

“Yes?”

I close my eyes, hating myself for asking the next question. “Did, um, did Lawrence happen to have another message for me?”

“I’m afraid not. But would you like to leave one for him?”

Yes. Why did you leave me without saying good-bye? Was everything we shared a lie? “No, that’s okay. Thank you.”

After we hang up, I turn to look at the food and push the tray to the side, not hungry anymore. As an inexplicable sorrow fills my chest, I have the odd sensation that it’s the beginning of the end of something beautiful that never fully developed.

Or maybe it already has.

I call Elly to invite her to come over and spend the day with me. At first, she doesn’t want to come, giving me some bullshit about principles or something like that, but curiosity wins, and she ends up accepting my invite. She’s also bringing her boyfriend—the musician she talked about a while back.

After running on the treadmill for an hour, I take a shower and get dressed, putting on my favorite pair of boyfriend jeans and an off the shoulder slouchy gray sweater. Looking down, I recall my short conversation with Elly. Apparently, things are getting serious between her and her musician. I’m so happy for her, but part of me feels both guilty and sad because I haven’t been there for her in the last couple of months. I know that I’ve been avoiding her, but I’m not ready to tell her what a mess of things I’ve made. And knowing Elly, she wouldn’t shy away from pointing out that I only have myself to blame.

I bury my hands inside my front pockets and reflect on how two girls as different as we are became the best of friends. And let’s be honest here, she’s a saint for not judging me and for putting up with my manic moods.

I had been living in the city for about two years when I met Elly. The moment she started to work at Homme, everyone in the staff fell in love with her outgoing personality. That is, everyone but me. I didn’t trust her friendly demeanor and ready smiles even though I knew that the girl didn’t have a bad bone in her entire body. She radiated positive energy.

After working together for three months, a waiter slash struggling actor slash really hot French model named Pierre threw a party at his loft in Astoria, Queens, and invited everyone.

She was there with her boyfriend at the time—a total douchebag if you ask me. As soon as I saw him, I knew that I couldn’t like him. Maybe it was the way that he flirted with everything in a skirt, or how he kept going on and on about his job and how much money he made. Really, the more he bragged, the smaller I imagined his dick to be. I couldn’t understand what Elly was doing with him, but love works in mysterious ways.