“I had past trauma,” I explained. “And I got a bit obsessed with killers and their victims. Back then, it was an unhealthy coping mechanism. Now, I’ve turned it into something to help people. But I’m not sure how I ‘deal’ with it. Maybe I don’t, you know?”
Angelica sniffled and laughed. “Not really.”
I patted her knee. “You’ll be okay.”
Before she could reply, Evelyn crashed into the room, bringing with her the salty smell of sweat and a harried air. Mud splattered her rumpled shirt, as if she’d been standing on a street corner when a car drove through a puddle.
“Where have you been?” Marie demanded.
Evelyn’s chest pumped as she caught her breath. “Sorry. Lost track of time.”
Marie tried to cross her arms, but her wet nails prevented her from completing the pose of disapproval. “I’m starting to wonder if I should demote you and make Jack my maid of honor instead, since she seems to be the only one who cares about our plans.”
I lowered my gaze as Evelyn’s lip curled. She was definitely still mad about last night, but I was glad to see that she was okay.
“I’m trying my best,” Evelyn told her sister. “But do whatever you want.”
She stalked to the opposite end of the room, plopped into an open recliner, and shook off her boots to get her toenails done. Not once did she bother to look up at me.
Evelyn actively avoided me for the rest of our spa visit, but I cornered her in the lobby as the other girls ran off to tip the people who had serviced them. Grabbing Evelyn by one bulky bicep, I tugged her to a private corner.
“Well?” I demanded. “Where did you go this morning?”
She shook me off. “Do you have to know everything I do? You certainly don’t afford me the same courtesy.”
“You ditched Marie,” I reminded her. “Besides, it looks like you got into a mud-wrestling match. Did you win at least?”
“If you must know, I went for a run,” she spat. “Marie, my family, you—you’ve all been driving me bonkers. I had to blow off some steam.”
“You’re lying.”
She scoffed. “How do you figure?”
“Because no one goes for a run in jeans.”
Evelyn glanced at the denim hugging her thighs. “Yeah…well, I forgot to bring trackies.”
I walked away from her then, because I couldn’t stand the fact that she didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth. We never had ongoing arguments like this. We talked to each other and we fixed things. When had that process changed?
My anger ran deep, deep enough to leave Evelyn at the spa with Marie and the bridesmaids while I escaped the scene in a Lyft. Let Evelyn chauffeur the girls back to the hotel. It was supposed to be her responsibility anyway.
For the rest of the day, I abandoned Evelyn to her maid of honor duties and treated myself to downtown Chicago’s biggest tourist traps. I took an architecture tour on a riverboat, played mini golf by myself near the Bean, and explored an enormous Italian market, where I ate fresh pasta and drank as many espressos as my body could hold. When I finally returned to the Saint Angel, darkness had fallen hours before.
Thankfully, there were no signs of Evelyn or the bridal party in the lobby, but anxiety tightened my chest as I crossed to the elevators. Surely, when I got upstairs, I’d have to face Evelyn again.
“Which floor?”
A man had stepped into the elevator at the same time as me, his finger hovering over the button panel. He was unnaturally good-looking, as if an artist airbrushed his features in real-time. His golden blond hair flopped across his forehead in an intentional I-just-woke-up kind of way, and his tan face made his silvery blue eyes shine brightly under the elevator’s fluorescent lights.
“Ma’am?” he inquired, tilting his head like an adorable puppy dog when I didn’t answer. “Which floor?”
“Fourteen,” I stuttered.
He pushed the buttons for the 14th floor and the rooftop, where the Saint Angel’s most expensive restaurants and lounges were. As he watched the floors tick by, he folded his hands in front of him.
“Nice night so far?” he asked politely.
“If only,” I muttered.
He chuckled. A lovely, warm sound. “I find a glass of good bourbon can cure almost any ailment. Care to join me?”
“Uh—” The elevator dinged and dropped me off at the fourteenth floor before I could fully process his invitation. Automatically, I stepped out and mouthed wordlessly.
The man lifted his hand in understanding. “Maybe some other time. Hope to see you soon.”
I stood there, staring at his handsome smiling face until the elevator lifted him to greater heights. Heart pounding, I spun on my heel and headed toward my room with a grin.
A muttered swear word made me double back. Glancing into the vending room, I spotted Luis, the maintenance man. He fiddled with the ice machine, murmuring under his breath.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
He jumped at the sound of my voice. “Yes, miss. No ice on this floor tonight. Can’t figure out what’s wrong with this thing.”
“I’ll live. Have a good night, Luis.”
That night, even with Evelyn’s sour mood permeating the loft, I fell asleep thinking of the stranger’s smile in the elevator.
5
“Jack! Evelyn! Please, someone open the door!”
Marie’s muffled voice floated up to the loft, gently peeling me from my sleep. Evelyn slept right through the hammered knocking, so I shook her shoulder.
“What?” she snapped.
“It’s your sister.”
She straightened up at the sound of Marie’s distress then flung the covers off and hurried downstairs to open the door. I pulled on a baggy sweatshirt to combat the morning chill and went to meet them.
Marie sobbed into her sister’s shoulder, shaking with each hitched breath. “I don’t know w-why this is happening to m-me. I d-don’t understand.”
“What happened?” I asked sharply. “Is someone hurt?”
“Angelica left,” Evelyn explained.
