Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 32532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Memories wash over me as he speaks, and all I can do is nod as my tears fall faster. I remember the days I spent with Zacharie, and they’re all...good. So, so good.
“Now, I don’t know what God will impress upon your heart and your beau’s, but because our God does not lie, and He is always faithful to His promises, when He says the truth shall set us free—”
Oh.
“Maybe we can start with that?”
OH.
Everything’s suddenly terrifyingly but also wonderfully clear, and Dane and Pastor Chandler just laugh as I speak in a rush while scrambling to leave. I’m not sure I was coherent, to be honest. I just wanted them to understand that they’re a blessing to me, and I hope to treat them to dinner one day, but right now I have to go, like ASAP.
Eden was kind enough to text me his room number two days ago—back when I still had the courage to read messages from anyone connected to him—and so I know where to go. I find myself biting my nails while the elevator slowly makes its way to the top floor.
This is going to sound really bad, but since I’m the type to blend into the background rather easily, I’ve never had the need to say sorry much, and that’s why I’m not sure if I’ll do this right?
I’m only halfway done with the recipe for my humble pie when the elevator doors slide open with a cheerful ding that feels wildly inappropriate for the magnitude of what I’m about to do.
The hallway stretches before me, all polished floors and muted lighting and the faint smell of expensive flowers masking hospital antiseptic.
My heart is pounding so hard I can barely hear anything beyond it.
1.
1.
1.
120—
“Ms. de los Reyes?”
Private security materializes out of nowhere to block my path, two men in dark suits with earpieces, their faces professionally blank.
And then I notice the others.
Of course there’s press. A billionaire getting shot is news.
Photographers and reporters cluster at the end of the hallway, held back by velvet ropes like this is some kind of red carpet event instead of a hospital wing. The moment security says my name, they sense something is about to unfold, and the next thing I know, all cameras are pointed at me.
Flashes explode.
Questions erupt.
I dig my nails into my palms. Fear of being embarrassed tempts me to turn back and just try another time, but after everything that’s happened, how do I even know there will be another time?
And so I swallow hard and muster the courage to keep talking. “Could you, um, pass a message—”
“We apologize.” The security guard’s voice is flat. Rehearsed. “We’ve been told not to interrupt Mr. Lacroix at all costs, as he is currently with his girlfriend.”
His...girlfriend?
He already has...a girlfriend?
My Zacharie...is already someone else’s?
Camera flashes turn into starbursts, bleeding across my vision like watercolors in the rain. The polished floor seems to ripple beneath my feet, and I can hear the reporters shouting questions, but their voices have gone distant and strange, like hearing the world through water.
Did I get it wrong, God?
The thought rises up from somewhere deep and desperate, clawing at the inside of my chest.
Was Zacharie simply meant to be a lesson about being true?
But You...never meant him to be mine?
Chapter Sixteen
ZACHARIE WAS TAKING his time changing into his clothes.
He realized why as he fastened the cuffs of his suit—platinum links set with black diamonds, the kind of understated extravagance that cost more than most people’s annual salary and yet meant absolutely nothing to him now.
Within the confines of his hospital suite, he had convinced himself he had an excuse not to think. The sterile walls, the steady beep of monitors, the parade of doctors and nurses—all of it had created a buffer between him and reality.
But once he stepped outside, he would be forced to remember.
Mira was gone.
Mira had discarded him.
Because just like his parents, she thought he was weak.
Zacharie stepped out of the en-suite bathroom, adjusting his jacket, and frowned when he saw Calixte standing at the window. His friend had parted the shutters and was studying the commotion outside with an expression of mild interest, like a man observing weather patterns rather than whatever chaos was unfolding in the corridor.
The sound of raised voices and camera flashes filtered through the tinted glass.
“What’s happening?” Zacharie asked.
“Mira’s arrived.”
The news had his body stiffening, but he deliberately focused his efforts on turning his heart to stone. “Ignore it,” he said curtly. “I’ve already given security instructions on how to deal with her.”
Calixte turned from the window, one dark brow arching. “What instructions would those be?”
“She’s probably feeling guilty for leaving me for the right reasons. That can only be dealt with in one way.”
“You choose to be cruel to be kind.”
“The ends justify the means is more how I think of it.”