Only when the camera lens was pointed in our direction did he lift his arm and rest his hand lightly on my waist, drawing me just a little bit closer. We made for a pretty picture-Mom with her immaculately polished appearance and welcoming smile, Dad with his pressed red tie and dark hair going just ever-so-slightly gray at the temples, and me, the image of the perfect, well-cultured daughter.

It was over almost as soon as it began, and Mom leaned close to the computer screen, perusing the shots so she could pick the one that was just right. I hovered over her shoulder, pretending to care and offering an opinion when asked.

Looking at those pictures started a fire somewhere deep inside me. It burned hot, then even hotter as picture after picture blinked across the screen. Each snapshot was just another lie, and I was so sick of all the lies. I hated the girl in the picture-the meek, well-mannered puppet. I was done with her. Done pretending to be her.

Even with that internal declaration, the words ground to a halt as they tried to find their way out of my mouth. I knew what I wanted to do, knew what I needed to say, but I was afraid. The fear of losing them was real, the possibility that if I defied them, I'd be on my own.

The photographer was packing up, Eli holding open the door as Mom and Dad slipped on their jackets, by the time I managed to screw up the courage and force out the words I'd been trying to say for the last ten minutes. "I'm considering going back to New York after the holidays." Well, take out considering, and that was exactly what I meant to say.

Dad paused with the door cracked open, his eyebrows snapping together until it looked like they were one big, bushy brow. Mom flicked a red-polished fingernail at me. "Don't be silly, Bianca. This isn't up for discussion."

"What I decide to do with my future isn't up for discussion? Are you saying that I don't have a say in what I want to do with my life?" The fire sparked again, curling through me.

"This is about that boy, isn't it?" She sneered, her lips turning down at the corners. "You'd risk everything we've done on a piece of garbage like him?"

"I think you mean everything I've done." My hands curled into fists, my fingernails biting into the soft flesh of my palms. "I did it all. Most of the time without any support from either of you."

"Bianca, I have a stack full of receipts in my office that is a clear indicator of how much support we've given you." Unlike Mom, whose voice simmered at the edges, Dad's was cool and calm. No petty disagreement with his daughter could ruffle the senator's feathers.

"Well, Senator, I guess that's the problem then. When I say 'support,' I wasn't referring to money." Something laid itself on my chest, something that felt a lot like a boulder, or a bowling ball. "Do you even care about me at all?"

Mom gave me an exaggerated eye roll. "Please, Bianca. We don't have time for this melodrama right now. We've given you everything you could possibly need-"

"Just so long as I did everything you asked, right? I mean, that is why you had me, isn't it?" I directed my gaze at my Mom so I was practically staring through her, my entire body vibrating with all of my bottled up emotions. "Why you ruined your body and went through the horror of having a child?"

Bright red snaked its way up her neck, blemishing her pale skin and darkening her cheeks. "How dare you. You-" Dad laid a hand on her shoulder, and whatever she had been about to say was abruptly cut off.

"That's more than enough, Bianca. Now is neither the time nor the place. Come February, you will be taking your place at Carlisle, Jennings & Drew. End of discussion." He turned toward the door, like with his say-so the conversation would end just because he wanted it to. Any other time he might have been right, but not this time.

I wanted to yell at him, I wanted my words to be strong and firm and powerful, but instead I said in a quiet voice, one that was more defeated than soaked in rage, "You're wrong. I'm not going to take the position, and that is the end of the discussion because it is my choice, not yours. I'm sorry that you disagree with my decision, but I'm not sorry that for the first time in my life I'm doing what I want to do."

They stood, poised to leave, coats b.u.t.toned, the door farther open now. Eli stood off to the side, his face as expressionless as always. A sliver of the night sky peeked through, blackest of blacks and as thick and solid as a wall. "Don't mistake me, Bianca," Dad said. "If you do this, we will cut you off. It will be the end of our tolerance for this childish behavior. It's that simple."

And for once, it finally was simple.

"I know you never wanted a daughter." My hands relaxed, fingers uncurling from their bent position. I let my eyes drift shut as I stepped over the edge. "Well, congratulations, you no longer have one."

I waited for a response, but the only one I got was the door quietly clicking shut. I guess that was my answer.

Chapter 36: Ian.

18 Months Earlier Two empty, orange prescription bottles sat at the back of the bathroom counter.

Fourteen oval, light blue pills.

Eight round, white ones.

The haunted reflection that stared back at me from the mirror was someone I didn't recognize. The deep hollows in my cheekbones, the dark patches underneath my eyes, the empty, vacant stare. Guilt ate at me until I could feel nothing else. Every thought, every whisper, every memory was just a reminder-everything was my fault.

If I'd answered my phone, those few extra minutes might have been enough to save Dad. If I hadn't lied to Maggie, she would never have been at the mall in the first place. If I hadn't pulled the plug on Maggie, Felix wouldn't have fought with some drunk a.s.shole who called me a murderer, stupidly trying to defend my honor. He wouldn't have been shoved off a balcony and landed himself in a f.u.c.king wheelchair.

There was so much blood on my hands, I couldn't see the skin anymore.

I picked up a pill, cradling it in the palm of my hand. It would be so easy to pop this one, chase it with the others, and call it a day. Maybe wake up in a better place, maybe find Maggie again. But I didn't deserve to feel better. In fact, I deserved every painful thought, every excruciating remembrance, every debilitating nightmare.

Cupping my hand, I brushed all the pills into it, mixing the white and blue together. I flipped up the toilet lid and dropped them all in. They hit the water with a series of plinks, sinking down to the bottom, wobbling in the barely discernible waves. Flushing the toilet, the water swirled and whisked them away, taking with them any chance for an end to my pain.

Chapter 37: Bianca.

Sometimes, being Bianca Easton had its perks. With a little gentle persuasion, blatant name-dropping, and a healthy dose of schmoozing, I'd talked my way into a decent law clerk position at Howell & Kline until I pa.s.sed the bar . . . in July. With the whole issue of having to actually work full-time to support myself in New York, spending a full month locked in a room to cram for the bar just wasn't feasible. So, I put it off one more time to give myself the time I needed to do it right.

Harper had been over the moon about my decision, offering up the extra bedroom at her place for my use without me even having to ask. My parents, however, still seemed to be waiting for me to take action before officially disowning me. At least they hadn't thrown me out yet. They'd jetted off to Aspen last weekend without a glance in my direction or a word spoken between us. I think a part of them didn't believe I was actually going to leave.

I already had my suitcases packed and ready to go.

As much as I was itching to leave, I wanted to stay and make it through the holidays. It was the first Christmas I'd be spending alone in a while. Although, I'd spent the last hour on the phone with Victoria, reminiscing about holidays past, so at least someone was thinking of me today. I'd spent the last four Christmases with Renee and her mom-Christmas lights twinkling from every corner, hands warmed through steaming mugs of hot chocolate, wrapping paper turned to confetti at the stroke of midnight. I'd spend this one last holiday alone, adrift in my memories, and then I'd leave it all behind and start a brand new year with a brand new future in front of me.

Christmas carols drifted through the air, mingling with the scent of the fir tree candle I'd lit. I may not have had a Christmas tree, but at least it smelled like I did. I glanced at the clock, hanging high on the wall over our electric fireplace. Imaginary flames leapt and crackled, and if I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend that beyond my closed windows there were drifts of snow and icicles dripping from the gutters. I sighed, opening my eyes back to reality, and the fact that my Chinese food was still likely half an hour away.

Wandering into the kitchen, I plucked the bottle of red I'd scavenged from the wine cellar earlier and pulled it across the counter, the gla.s.s rumbling against the granite. I popped the cork and was busy filling my gla.s.s when the doorbell rang. With my socks slipping across the marble floor, I hurtled toward the front door, one hand searching the pocket of my oversized cardigan to fish out the cash I'd already set aside, a healthy tip included for coming out today.

Throwing open the door, I came up short, finding not the Chinese food delivery guy but Ian standing on my porch. I took an involuntary step backward, grabbing the edges of my sweater and wrapping them tighter around my chest. The temperature was the same outside as it was inside, warmer even, but seeing him was like someone tossed a bucket of ice water in my face. "What are you doing here?"

His eyes searched out mine from behind his gla.s.ses, his face remaining almost completely blank of expression. My gaze coasted from the bouquet of flowers cradled in his arms, to the expensive, blue b.u.t.ton-down that completely hid every swirl of delicate artwork on his arm, back up to his neatly styled hair.

"Merry Christmas, Bianca," he said, letting a smile creep across his lips. "I hope I'm not interrupting your holidays." He gestured with his head behind me, and I finally understood that he was waiting for my family to appear and investigate the stranger at the door. I guess that explained the outfit and the care he'd taken with his appearance.

I cleared my throat. "Not at all. Merry Christmas." As my brain tried to comprehend his showing up here, my heart let out a sigh, and my face kept up the charade by trying to convince him that his presence didn't affect me at all. I finally latched on to a plan of action-be polite, courteous, aloof, and just keep on smiling. "Please, come in."

He stepped forward, his head swiveling to take in the vaulted ceiling, the sweeping staircase, and spotless marble floors. Pressing the flowers into my arms, he said, "There's actually two here, one for you and one for your mom. I can give it to her if . . . she's around."

"That's very sweet of you, Ian, but I'm sorry, she's not here." I lifted one shoulder in an unconcerned shrug. "I'll make sure to let her know though; she'll be very pleased you thought of her." The lie slipped out easily. I'd never tell her that Ian was here because I wasn't planning on seeing her again before I left.

The sound of his footsteps behind me indicated that he was following me, back down the hall and into the kitchen. I squatted to reach back into one of the cabinets to fish out a vase. The thing had to weigh almost twenty-five pounds, and I almost dropped the heavy crystal on the floor. When I popped back up, I noticed Ian's features had settled into his usual frown.

"No one's here?"

I focused my gaze on the thick stems of the flowers, scissoring off their ends at angles. I'd read somewhere it made them last longer, but wasn't sure if it was actually true. "No, they're spending the holiday in Aspen with some friends." Lifting up the ma.s.s of beautiful flowers, I set them down in the vase, plucking through the stems until everything settled nicely together. Pushing the vase to the side, I finally got around to asking what I wanted to know. "No offense, but I'm surprised to see you here. Are you visiting friends or . . . ?" I reached for my wine gla.s.s and took a small sip.

"I came to see you." He took a step forward and rested his hands on the edge of the black granite that I'd purposefully put between us. I needed the distance, needed to keep the touching to a minimum. His lips pinched together as he sucked in a breath through his nose. Running a hand through his hair, whatever effort he'd put into styling it was wasted as various strands stuck up at odd angles. "G.o.d, there's so much to say, and I don't even know where the h.e.l.l to start."

Anger burned up my throat, spurring my words. "I don't know, Ian. Did you want to tell me about your wife first or your girlfriend?" Hot shards of pain I thought I'd already conquered stabbed my heart, threatening to wipe the composed expression on my face. Deep breath, relax.

"You know." Not a question, but a statement. His fingers drifted up to pinch the bridge of his nose, lifting up his gla.s.ses. "How much? I mean, you have to have questions, don't you? I was going to tell you, at lunch. Remember? The lunch I asked you to?"

"I don't have any questions, Ian," I said in a quiet voice. "I am truly very sorry for your loss and what you had to go through, and while I was quite upset the night of the wedding, in the end, it's not really that big of a deal." When I got around to updating my resume, I'd have to add Professional Liar to it. Every word cost me, but I had to say it. I was moving on. Without Ian. I shrugged to keep up the act. "I mean, it was just casual between us. We both knew it was going to end. I appreciate you coming all the way here to explain or apologize, but it really wasn't necessary." I completely skated over the fact that we'd agreed to be exclusive, pretending that it hadn't hurt.

He looked like I'd just punched him in the stomach-his mouth hanging open, face pale, eyes narrowing on my face. I had to turn around; I couldn't look at him when he was looking at me like I was grinding his heart to dust beneath my thick socks. "Can I get you a drink?" I asked, holding up a wine gla.s.s in his direction.

"You're lying." The words were barely louder than a whisper. He shook his head. "I didn't imagine it. I know I didn't. Why . . . why are you lying?"

I set the gla.s.s down, the base rattling against the counter. My voice had a hard edge to it, like barbed wire wrapped in silk. "It seems pretty ironic coming from you, you calling me a liar. I've never been anything but truthful, but I can't say the same about you."

"I would have told you. Maybe not in the beginning, but after . . . that night after I freaked out at the Blackbird, if you'd asked, I would have told you. But you didn't." His fingers curled around the edge of the counter, his fingertips biting into the granite, knuckles bleaching of color.

"I didn't want to know."

Ian tilted his head back, letting his gaze study the ceiling. His neck muscles worked as he swallowed. "I'm not dating Brie."

"Quite a few newspapers and magazines would disagree with you."

His head snapped back down. "And since when are you someone who puts credit in that c.r.a.p?"

"Ian, I saw you together. With my own eyes. I asked you to come out with me, you said you were at your mom's, and I saw you there. I saw your arm around her, I saw her whispering in your ear. Are you going to tell me that I was mistaken? That I didn't see what I thought?"

"It was all a publicity stunt!" He yelled. "I'd been MIA, wouldn't touch a guitar, refused to go near any women. The label thought it would be a good idea to get me out in the public eye, and Brie is a friend of Gavin's, so she offered to help out. The exposure was good for both of us."

I hadn't moved an inch from my spot behind the counter, but my heart was hammering so hard I was waiting to see the pulse of it through my white T-shirt. "Thank you, for telling me."

"That's it? That's all you're gonna say?" Apparently frustrated with the blockade I'd strategically placed between us, he rounded the kitchen island and stopped a few inches in front of me. So close that the tips of his shoes almost brushed mine. "After Maggie died, I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't touch a guitar, I couldn't hear the music. I sure as h.e.l.l couldn't write. It was gone. I was gone." His eyes fluttered closed for a second, releasing their death grip on mine. "The first time I saw you in that coffee shop, I heard music. It was like . . . finally coming home after being gone for more years than I could count. And then, you opened your mouth and you didn't even know who I was. You didn't know about my past or how pathetic and broken I was. It was like a clean slate, and I couldn't get enough of you. Every time we went out together, I was terrified that someone would recognize me, point out what a liar I was. But time pa.s.sed and no one did, and it just happened."

My eyebrows pinched together. "What happened?"

"I fell for you." He dragged his eyes away from mine and stared over my head. "I never expected it. After what happened I never wanted to feel anything for anyone again." His hand drifted up, hesitantly, fingertips barely brushing against my arm. "You make me feel, Bianca."

There had always been so much that I didn't know about Ian, so much that was a mystery, a puzzle, pieces of him always hiding in the shadows. Though I'd tried my hardest to stop thinking about him, ever since I came home I'd been a.n.a.lyzing every conversation. Every flinch, every avoidance, every word. But it wasn't until right then that everything finally slid into place. I tilted my chin up so I could look him in the eye. "I make you feel, but you don't want to. If you had a choice you'd shut it off. Every time you're with me, every time I touch you"-I cupped my hand around his cheek-"it's like you're not being loyal to her. You want me, but you hate wanting me because that means you're betraying Maggie." I took a breath to steady myself, hoping to hide the desperation in my voice. "Tell me I'm wrong, Ian. Tell me."

Tell me that I'm a liar so I don't have to give up on us.

He stepped back from me so quickly that he almost stumbled over his own feet. My hand fell back to my side, colder than it'd been seconds before. His jaw was clenched so tightly that a muscle bunched in his cheek, and he shook his head vehemently-whether denying my statement or trying to shake off the truth of my words, I wasn't sure.

He took another step back. Two. Three. With an effort, he managed to drag his eyes up from the floor, though they couldn't quite meet mine. "You're right." I waited for him to say more, but that's all there was.

There was always a small victory in being right, but this time it only felt like defeat.

I nodded, once. Just a brief up and down of my head, minuscule enough that it might not have even counted as a nod. "You should go."

His hands traveled over his face, through his hair, then back down to where they clutched each other. "I'm sorry. I never meant-"

"I know." The right half of my lips attempted an empty smile, but the left half didn't bother. "This was always going to end." I said it again, as if repeating it would make it more true.

"It never felt that way."

I nodded again, this time with enough force that he knew I was agreeing with him. A small concession on my part, but it was the best I could do. Saying more would have only done more damage. To him. To me.

He turned, his shoulders hunching forward as he walked back to the front door. He stopped. "If you're ever in New York again, you'll call me?" Tilting his head to the side, he glanced at me over his shoulder.

Here it was, the last lie. And this time, it was mine. "Sure."

The door swung open. "Good-bye, Bianca."

"Good-bye, Ian."

Chapter 38: Ian.

Present Day I took the stairs two at a time, too restless after spending hours on a plane to wait for the elevator. My duffle bag b.u.mped against my leg, the strap digging into my shoulder. I'd spent the entire flight thinking it over, tossing it around in my mind, but I still couldn't decide if I thought going after Bianca had been a good idea. I'd certainly put it off long enough.

Seeing her there, all casual in her leggings and big sweater and still so beautiful, I'd felt something stir back to life. Something that'd been missing when she was gone. Something that hadn't shown its d.a.m.n face since Maggie was alive. And knowing that she was alone, that her parents had abandoned her on Christmas, I almost didn't have the restraint to hold back how much of a piece of s.h.i.t I thought they were.

Reaching my door, the sound of voices drifted through the wood. I threw it open, startling Felix and Gavin, who were sprawled out on my couch, Playstation controllers gripped in their hands. They froze, mid-motion.

"What the f.u.c.k are you doing here?" Felix asked.

"Last I checked, it's my apartment." I kicked the door closed behind me. "What the f.u.c.k are you doing here?"

Gavin shrugged. "Your TV's bigger. Why aren't you in Texas having glorious make-up s.e.x?"

I glared at him, ignoring his question, and headed for my bedroom. I shoved the door closed with my elbow, but it didn't catch and hung a few inches open. Tossing my bag across the room, I sank down onto the bed. I took off my gla.s.ses to rub my eyes. I had no love for the d.a.m.n things, but I remembered Bianca thought I looked s.e.xy in them, so I'd worn them. Stupid things hadn't helped. She probably hadn't even noticed them.

I rubbed a hand over my face, scratching it through my hair. It was like someone took a giant c.r.a.p on my life. Even when I thought things were finally turning around, that I was finally moving past all my s.h.i.t, I was so, so wrong.

Ever since that night she'd caught me with Brie, I'd been backsliding. I rationalized first, convincing myself it was best that she was gone. There was no way I wanted to go down that road again. I didn't even think I could. When I finally realized I was already speeding down that highway, feeling things for Bianca I had no business feeling for anyone ever again, I was so panicked that I locked myself inside for a week.

It'd taken me almost three weeks to work through it all and build up the courage to go see her. She deserved so much better than me. Someone who wasn't broken, a guy who could love her with everything that he had. Because that wasn't me. I couldn't give her something that I didn't have.