Annihilate Me (Vol. 4) (The Annihilate Me Series) (27 page)

“Thank
you.”

“Are
you all right?”

“I’m
fine.”

“I
wish I could say the same.”

I
could sense that he was conflicted and vulnerable, so I reached for his hand
and held it in mine.
 
“Tomorrow morning,
all of this will be behind us.”

“You’re
that confident about tonight?”

I’m
that confident that you’ll leave me tomorrow
, I thought.
 
But to
him, I said, “I’m hopeful.
 
Anything
could happen.
 
But it’s late and we
should leave.”

“Do
you want to talk about what happened this morning?”

“Let’s
save it for tomorrow morning.
 
We’ll
have a lot to talk about then.
 
Let’s get to the party.
 
Henri’s gone to a great deal of trouble, and Tank is probably in the
lobby waiting for us at this point.”

“You
seem distant.”

“I
don’t mean to.”

“Jennifer,
I don’t want anything to happen to us.”

“We’ll
be safe at the party.”

“That’s
not what I meant.
 
I meant that I
don’t want anything to happen to
us
.”

“Neither
do I.
 
It’s the last thing I want.”

I
looked him in the eyes, held his gaze with my own, and waited for him to say
that it was the last thing he wanted, and that all of this had been a
misunderstanding.
 
But he didn’t,
which gave me one more reason to believe that soon, we’d be over.

Go
inside the box.
 
Tuck yourself
there.
 
Be safe there.
 
Nothing good is going to come from this.

So,
I did.

“Tank
sent me the email you were sent,” he said.

“I
felt he would.”

“I
can’t tell you how sorry I am that that happened to you.”

“You
saw the security footage.
 
What
happened, happened.
 
Now, we’re
going to try to stop it from happening again.”

“Stay
close to me tonight, will you?”

“Of
course.
 
Where else would I go?”

He
moved to kiss me on the lips, but I knew the walls I had in place would come
crashing down if I let him do that, so I met his kiss by turning my cheek into
it.

When
he pulled away from me, he looked surprised.

“Now
you don’t have lipstick on your lips,” I said.

“Is
that the reason you turned away from me?”

I
didn’t answer.

“Why
won’t you talk to me?”

Because
I want to have you for one more night—even if it is tense between
us.
 
If we talk now, it will only
bring on the inevitable sooner.
 
You’ll mention the violence you saw in that photo, you’ll say that you
want to protect me, you’ll say that you’ve had all day to think about this, and
then you’ll leave me.
 
I’m not ready
for that yet.
 
Give me one more
night.
 
That’s all I want.

“We
should go, Alex.
 
We need to face
this.”

“Please
talk to me.”

“I
am talking to you.”

“You
know what I mean.”

“Look,
I’m here.
 
Do you see me?
 
Look at me.
 
I’m here.”

“Are
you?
 
I don’t think you are.”

“Oh
yes I am.
 
In ways that you’ll think
about years from now.”

“What
does that mean?”

“It
doesn’t matter.
 
We’re late.
 
Tank is waiting.
 
So is Henri.
 
Let’s go.
 
We can’t be late.
 
Too much effort has gone into this.”

And
so we left.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

When
we stepped out of the elevator, Tank was in the lobby standing next to the
building’s entrance and looking beyond it to the sidewalk.
 
In silence, Alex and I walked over to him.

“Sorry
we’re late,” I said.

He
turned to us.
 
“You’ll be
fashionably late.
 
But not for
long.
 
We should leave.”

“Is
there anything we should know before we go?” Alex asked.

“For
some reason, Henri’s people alerted the paparazzi about tonight’s event.
 
I don’t know why they did since I
specifically asked him not to do so, but what can I tell you?
 
They did.
 
I understand that he enjoys his share of
attention in the press, so that might be the case.”

“I
know Henri,” Alex said.
 
“And that
is the case.
 
Still, I’m
disappointed in him.
 
With so many
cameras going off, this will make things difficult for you.”

“We’ll
manage it.
 
My suggestion is for you
to move deep into the crowd when you arrive at the party and try to steer clear
of the photographers.
 
Mingle as
much as possible.
 
We’ve placed
cameras everywhere and I’ll be able to see you wherever you go, but try to stay
out in the open.
 
It will be easier
for us that way.
 
If someone who
isn’t a member of the paps takes your photograph, we’ll catch it because a team
that includes me is solely going to be watching over you.”

“Are
Faust and Welch there?”

“They
arrived with their wives fifteen minutes ago.
 
I have a team watching them as well as
the rest of the crowd.
 
As you know,
for the most part, the people you’ll see tonight were not at Peachy’s party,
which is good.
 
We’ll be watching
everyone closely.
 
If we miss
anything—and if either of you are sent another email—remember that
all of this is being recorded on digital and that we’ll be able to turn to the
tapes later and find out who took it.
 
It’s the same protocol we used at Peachy’s party.”

“I’m
ready,” I said.

“Alex?”

“Let’s
do this.”

*
 
*
 
*

When
we arrived at Dufort’s building on Fifth, where he owned the penthouse, there
was a line of well-dressed people waiting to get inside, many of whom were
being photographed by the paparazzi.
 

The
last time we were there, it was for Dufort’s birthday party.
 
He had held it on the building’s
rooftop, which he also owned since he owned the entire building.
 

I
remembered the intricate gardens Dufort had cultivated on that rooftop, how
Alex had first ignited the deal with Streamed when he presented it to Dufort,
and I especially remembered the love letter Alex had given me, which I read
while he was courting Dufort.
 

That
letter seemed like a lifetime ago to me, but in reality, it was only a few
short months ago.
 
Still, I
remembered everything he wrote because it was in my soul.
 
I’d read the letter so often that I had
committed it to memory.

 
At the top of the page, in his own
handwriting, he’d written, “This is from
Steinbeck:
 
A Life in Letters
.
 
It
’
s
one of my favorite books.
 
When we
were in Maine, whenever I saw you or thought of you, I thought of this, because
I
’
m in love with you, Jennifer.
 
Steinbeck wrote this letter to a friend
of his.
 
It reminded me again of how
short life is, not that I need to be reminded after what happened to
Diana.
 
But still.
 
I wanted you to know how I feel about
you.
 
I know now that life is too
short to not tell you.
 
For me,
there
’
s no shame in telling you
exactly how I feel about you—and about us—even if you feel
differently.”

I
remembered being overwhelmed at that moment.
 
He was the first man to ever say that he
was in love with me.
 
And for him to
say so in a letter was intentional—it meant that I could always revisit
that moment.
 
He didn
’
t want it to be something I would remember
in a blur—he wanted it to be something tangible that I could return to
whenever I wanted to.
 
I couldn
’
t process my own thoughts or feelings at
that point—they were scattered.
 
Fractured.
 

Instead,
I just remembered what I read.

“There
are several kinds of love,”
Steinbeck
’
s
passage began.
 
“One is a selfish,
mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance.
 
This is the ugly and crippling
kind.
 
The other is an outpouring of
everything good in you—of kindness and consideration and
respect—not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect
which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable.
 
The first kind can make you sick and
small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and
goodness and even wisdom you didn
’
t know
you had.
 

“You
say this is not puppy love.
 
If you
feel so deeply—of course it isn
’
t
puppy love.

“
But I don’
t think you were asking me what you feel.
You know better than anyone.
 
What
you wanted me to help you with is what to do about it—and that I can tell
you.

“Glory
in it for one thing and be very glad and grateful for it.
 
The object of love is the best and most
beautiful.
 
Try to live up to
it.
 
If you love someone—there
is no possible harm in saying so—only you must remember that some people
are very shy and sometimes the saying must take that shyness into
consideration.

“Girls
have a way of knowing or feeling what you feel, but they usually like to hear
it also.
 
It sometimes happens that
what you feel is not returned for one reason or another—but that does not
make your feelings less valuable and good.”

Alex
ended his letter with this:
 
“For
me, it
’
s the second kind of love
that I feel for you.
 
I
’
m saying this to you now not because I don
’
t want to say it in person—I plan to
do so soon—but so that you have a love letter from me.
 
People don
’
t write love letters anymore, but I think
they
’
re important.
 
I think letters between lovers are
romantic.
 
It can define a
relationship.
 
Lift it.
 
I wanted you to know in writing how much
you mean to me.
 
In time, I hope you
feel the same as I do.
 
I
’
m looking forward to that day.
 
I do love you, Jennifer.
 
Now, you know that.
 
I love you—Alex.”

At
that moment, my iron box started to crumble.
 
The walls I’d built started to fall
down.
 
I turned away from Alex and
Tank, and looked out the window as I recalled my own love letter to Alex.

“Dear Alex,” I began.
 
“As you
’
re about to find out, I
’
m no Steinbeck, whom you quoted in your
beautiful letter to me.
 
He had a
way with words that I
’
ll never
have.
 
But these are my words and
they come from my heart.

“From the very first day that I met you,
when that man on Fifth Avenue nearly knocked me down, I
’
ve been smitten by you.
 
That day, we met at Wenn in an
elevator.
 
Who could have known then
that the man who stood next to me and asked if I was all right would become my
first and hopefully last great love?
 
And that he would fall in love with me?
 
I look back at these past many weeks
that we
’
ve been together with a
kind of elation and shame.
 
But now,
as I write this, I also look back with a profound sense of love for you.
 
With the exception of Lisa and maybe
Blackwell, I think you, of all people, know what it takes for me to say those
words, to stare down my fears and to admit that I am in love with you.
 
I
’
ve
never said this to anyone else because those words mean that much to me.
 
They are precious to me.
 
I
’
ve
held them close to me and I
’
ve saved
them for the right person, the only person, for reasons you already know.
 
But now I finally get to say them with
meaning.
 
I
’
m deeply in love with you.
 
You have no idea just how much I
’
m in love with you.
 
You probably never will.
 
But I hope to show you just how much
through my love and my actions.”