"Thank you. Yes, I'm happy to be back." My mouth twists as I listen to Lonnie Harkner continue on, anxious to get the details of my life and the reasons for my recent hiatus from my desk job. On my first day, settled into an office I had thought I was done with, I've spent the entire day dialing our biggest clients, informing them of my continued service to Norman White Public Relations. Quite a few had some questions about my short-lived police assault, but surprisingly, not much of it mattered to them. They seem glad to have me back, glad that this position isn't still hanging in the air.

There's a dark cloud hanging directly above my head, lurking as a reminder that I have not seen Giovanni in nearly three days. That I've packed a bag and moved covertly into Norman's fancy apartment. Also, that I am back in a job I thought was in my past, even though my mind is still firmly latched onto the notion of California and my own firm. Connor was definitely surprised to hear of the postponement of my plans and, moreover, my reinstatement as Norman's VP, but didn't ask too much over the phone. I'm sure he will have questions when I see him next.

When that will be, I am completely unsure.

"Yes, sir. I am as dedicated to this company as ever. I will keep you posted on what we decide for the website."

My eyes dart to Rebecca, who enters the room on a mission. After placing a large assortment of fresh flowers on the meeting table near the window, and a decanter now filled with expensive scotch sent by Norman, she begins to sift through my box in the corner of the room. It's the box I packed when I was leaving and the sight of her unloading it has me ending my phone call quick to tell her to leave it.

She stares at me curiously. "You want to keep it boxed?"

At my nod, she frowns. "I wish you'd tell me how he changed your mind. You were so sure of California."

I gather my things, placing them in a drawer. "It's better if you remain in the dark on it, really. This won't be forever."

"And Giovanni? Where is he? Are you living together? I mean, is he staying in New York?"

I've been lying to people all day, but this one is really hard to say. "I think we jumped into things too fast. We're, um, taking a break for a while."

"What?"

Keep talking, Scarlett. Keep talking. "Yeah, I mean, he's got his new line coming out next month, and I'm going to be busy here. We have so many events coming up. We both have a lot of dreams we want to accomplish--"

"Are you fucking crazy?"

I don't answer her. I'm a hair inch away from going off-the-wall mad.

She steps up to the desk, leaning close to me. "You were in Italy last week, madly in love."

"I know I was."

She checks out the doorway. "Is Norman blackmailing you again? If he is, you can tell me."

"Norman has nothing to do with this."

She blinks, shaking her head. "I know you're lying, Scarlett. For months, I watched you sit here heartbroken over that man. You told me then that you were willing to give up everything for him. I know that didn't just suddenly change."

"Believe what you want to believe, Bec. I just... I really can't talk about this right now."

She stares at me, mouth hanging agape, but eventually turns and leaves, muttering to herself. My eyes cast downward, my face flaming in anger, in embarrassment, in regret.

And this wasn't even hard. No, soon, the world will realize that he and I aren't together, and things will get so much worse. I thought we were done with the secrecy. From the start, we've hidden what we are to each other, had to deny ourselves the pleasure of living a semi-normal existence together.

I pick up the phone, inhaling deeply as I tap a number into the system. The line begins to ring, and a voicemail picks up.

"You called Donnie Osborne, PI. Leave a message and I'll get back to you."

At the beep, I speak, "Donnie, it's Scarlett Bardot. It's been a while. I'm going to need your services at your earliest convenience. I'll double your price if you make this your priority. Call me."

Placing the phone into the receiver, I stand onto my heels, needing a nip of alcohol. I pour myself a scotch and let the liquid warm my throat as I appreciate the setting sun gleaming against New York Skyline from the glass.

There's a movement at the door, and I turn, finding Rebecca entering with a vase of roses. She makes a frustrated face at me.

"These came for you."

I remain still, but my heart lurches with hope. "Who are they from?"

"I don't know. I didn't think you'd want me to know these things," she grumbles, setting them down onto the desk with a thud. I smile regretfully, peering at her apologetically. After a beat of anger, she sighs and takes a glance at the card.

"It's some business."

Damn. I try to conceal my disappointment. "Thanks, Bec."

"I'm going home, okay?"

I nod. "Goodnight."

She turns, clearly angry she's out of the loop and that I'm deliberately keeping things from her. She stops in her tracks at the door, though, and pivots, her hands on her hips.

"I'm worried about you, Scarlett. You're always so private... so alone."

Alone.

I shake my head. "I have you."

She smiles tightly. "Well, at least you know that."

I look down at my scotch.

"You can trust me with anything."

No, I can't. I can't trust anybody.

I focus on her again, reassuring her with a warmer smile. "I know, Becca. I know that."

She clears her throat, tilting her head. "Well, call me if you change your mind."

On her way out, she runs straight into Norman, who chuckles at the startle. I catch him grasping onto the doorframe, concealing a short cough with his other sleeve as she says goodnight, leaving us.

I point at the decanter, and he nods almost immediately, walking to take a seat by my desk.

As I pour, he asks, "Who are these from? Giovanni?"

"No." I bite my lip. "No, we haven't spoken."

"No calls?"

I set the decanter down with a harsher thud than I had anticipated. "Can't risk it."

"I made some calls today. I have a friend, a cop who works a district over. I asked him to keep an eye on Dixon and inform me of any suspicious movements. He'll cooperate."

"How do you know?"

"Because if not, he knows I can make his life a living hell. He has dealings in some pretty deep shit in Brooklyn."

I hand him his glass. "Blackmail... isn't that how all this started?"

"We don't have the luxury to be just, Scarlett. We fight fire with fire."

I nod, rubbing my face as he drinks, taking back the entire glass. He shakes his head, chuckling when he finds me blinking at him.

"It dulls the pain a bit."

At that, I take his glass and make the executive decision to pour him another hit.

When he drinks, only throwing back a sip, I walk around the desk, holding my own drink to my chest. "I need to do some checking around."

"What are you thinking?"

"If we're going to find dirt on him, we need to find out what he was up to on the streets. I need to go see Roberto. He's the man Dixon was renting from. Maybe he has something, knows something that can help us."

"Dixon's been off the grid for so long; it's going to be difficult to track the whereabouts."

I sit down with a sigh. "I know. But, I have to find something. Tom called me earlier today."

Norman's silver brows rise. "Oh?"

My teeth grind at the thought. "Yes, can you believe it? On the one night Dixon is in my building, the whole security system is down. No footage to recover. I mean, the odds..."

My sarcasm isn't lost on him. He shakes his head, looking down. "What did Tom say?"

"He said what he said before. That our stories weren't adding up, and he couldn't tell if this was some crazy vendetta we have against each other. But that there was nothing he could do without some truth and evidence."

Norman laughs, leaning back. "Dear Lord."

"This is a fucking nightmare," I grumble, throwing back my drink.

"It won't be forever."

"And you know this how?"

Norman smirks. "There is no one I know who survives life more than you. This is no different."

"It's a little different."

"How so?"

"Because I'm engaged."

Norman's unfaltering stare doesn't intimidate me. In fact, my own confession finally spoken into existence only drives me to confess more.

"I'm engaged to a man I care about more than myself. He is at risk because of me. His whole life could blow up at any second, and I can do nothing to stop it."

He gapes and releases a weak sound. "Engaged?"

I nod. "And don't bother trying to talk me out of it."

"I wasn't going to."

"Oh? A sudden change of heart?"

He scowls at my stubbornness.

"Whether you choose to believe it or not, Scarlett, I don't want your unhappiness. I have never wanted that."

"Could have fooled me."

He glares at me, and my mouth twists into a resentful smile. "You say you want me to be happy, and yet, you watched me suffer for months, and it was at your own doing. You had months to take back what you'd done. You had months to tell me the truth."

"And I didn't."

"No, you didn't."

He stands up with a heavy sigh. "You won't listen to me."

"I'm listening!"

"No, you're not!" he argues angrily. He sets his glass down onto my desk noisily. "I stayed out of your business when you married Dixon. I let you live your life. You hid for so long what he was doing to you. I didn't even know until you were leaving him... I've failed again and again to protect you."

"And when the news of you and Giovanni came out, a man who notoriously jumped from woman to woman, I sensed you were going down a path that would only lead you to more heartbreak. Not only was your affair destroying your entire career, but it was affecting this." He gestures around. "My life's work. You and this are all I have to show for my whole life. I didn't believe he was worth jeopardizing it all."

I blink back tears, set aback by his candor. "He is."

He breathes in shakily and shrugs. "We will see."

He begins to start for the door, slower than usual.

"Norman."

He turns halfway.

I swallow, fingers gripping my glass tighter to my chest. "I-I appreciate what you are doing for me."

He smiles weakly and then points to the bouquet of roses. "It's strange... that a client would send you such an extravagant arrangement."

As his comment begins to sink in, and he turns with a knowing half-smile, leaving me to my questions, I set down my drink and reach into the crimson petals, plucking out the card anxiously. With hasty fingers, I remove the thick paper from the envelope, turning it over. An exhale of relief leaves my lips at the sight of Giovanni's handwriting—and then a wide smile.

Thursday. 8 pm.

...

With one last glance at the GPS to make sure I'm where I'm supposed to be, I turn into the woodsy driveway, pleased I arrived before the sun completely set. I park the car Norman loaned me, and blow out a breath. My heart is racing and I have no idea why.

It's only been a week that we've been apart.

Maybe it's the fear of getting caught. Even out in the middle of nowhere, nearly two hours away from the city, I somehow can still feel chased. I climb out of the car, hearing the creatures in the forests surrounding, the stormy wind blowing harshly through the trees. It's nearly August. Fall will be here soon.

I walk through the driveway, seeing no other car. It's almost eight, but clearly, Giovanni isn't here yet. And that scares me. What if this is a trick? What if somehow Dixon got wind of our plans?

God, how would he? I'm being ridiculous.

The cabin is small, smaller than I imagined a place of Norman's would be. The exterior is dark wood, clearly aged from time and neglect. Its disrepair makes it no less beautiful. This place feels like a sanctuary, a hide-out. The steps creak beneath my feet as I pull out the key Norman gave me and stick it into the doorway, glancing into the trees around me nervously.

The second I'm inside, I shut the door quickly, my eyes darting around the space of the living room and kitchen watchfully, searching for signs of movement. But clearly, no one is here. The furniture looks like a different time. The odor of the place smells of tree bark and humidity, earthy and musky. Clearly, by the evidence of covered plastic on the couches and heaps of dust on the windowsill, no one has been here in some time.

It makes me like this place more.

I pry open a window after realizing the air conditioning will not turn on, so I can air out the room. After removing the plastic from the furniture, storing them in the small bedroom down the hallway, the only bedroom in this place, I go to my bag and remove its contents. Wine, if only to make this seem classier, dinner, which thankfully I can still cook because the power is on, something Norman must have handled knowing we were on our way. I place the items into the empty fridge and start around the place with a duster I found lying around.

As I do a quick once-over of the living room, eyes flickering to the windows, waiting to hear tires against gravel, my cleaning ceases as my gaze focuses on a picture in a photo frame. Slowly, I set down the duster onto the windowsill and reach for the frame, heart beating wildly.

The woman that a younger-looking Norman has his arms tightly around looks nearly identical to me. Apart from a few creases to her skin and a far kinder smile, she has all my features. Her hair is long to her waist but the same color as mine.

I hear myself trying to catch my breath as I focus on Norman's hands atop of hers, planted firmly on her extended stomach.

I don't have to guess.

This woman is my mother.

And suddenly, it all becomes very real. For weeks now, Norman has told me my mother wasn't who I thought she was. While I accepted the idea, I didn't let myself really contemplate it because some part of me will always be loyal to her.

But this photo serves as evidence.

The woman I loved as a child wasn't the woman who gave birth to me. Nor was the man who fed on our fear my real father. Norman sent me here for a reason—I look around, blinking at all the items in the room.

This was their place.

In my confusion and wonder, I nearly miss the sound I've been waiting for all day. It's now dark outside, but the flash of headlights causes my heart to leap. I set down the frame heavily and race to the window, peering out behind the mesh curtains.

At the sight of Giovanni, straightening by the driver's side of the parked car, I smile, my face nearly splitting in two as I watch him start hastily for the steps, dressed in light jeans and a graphic tee, an outfit that is so casual, it's strange to see on him.

I spin just as he swings open the door and exhale just as he does.

He begins to shake his head, starting toward me. "No words."

I gasp loudly just as his hands take hold of my face, entranced by the desire written all over his face.

"No words."