Revelation (32 page)

"He left
everything
to me," I say.

A smile. "You seem surprised."

"I—I can’t. I can't take any of this. It's not mine. The car. The condo. These
bank accounts
!"  

"Instead of giving him the money upfront, Jack decided it should be released in installments. The first came when he turned eighteen."

"This is only
one
installment?" I ask, eyes widening with disbelief.

"No," she says, pulling the statement and passing it to me. "This is the money we set aside for Carter's education. We gave him full access when the two of you were married, since we didn't know what your plans were. And this was a savings account we started for him," she goes on, producing another. "Jack also invested some of the money. We have a firm that manages our stocks. Those certificates are right here. They'll send you a monthly update with Carter's share.
This
is the first installment," she passes me an account summary.

My head runs light. "
What
?"

"The other two would have released when he turned twenty-one, and then twenty-five. By that time Jack hoped they would be working together."

I study the string of numbers, trying to make sense of them. "I can't," I say, handing it back to her. "This isn't mine."

"It was Carter's," she replies. "And he left it to you. So it
is
yours."

"You don't understand," I say, choking on the words. "I
can't
take this. I didn't—I didn't do
anything
for this. I don't
deserve
it."

"I trust my son. And Carter loved you. If this is what he wanted, then I support him one hundred percent. Jack and I both do."

I blink back tears threatening to spill. All those nights spent without power. Ramen noodles. Begging for extensions on the rent. . . .

"He must have suspected, or else he was more discerning than Jack thought," she continues, turning pages. "I can't believe he worked everything out so quickly."

A small, white envelope slips to the table.

I recognize Carter's quick scrawl immediately.

Genesis.

She slides it toward me.

"You were important to him, Genesis, so you're important to us. We're thankful for you—that you were part of Carter's life. And Jack and I want you to know that if you ever need anything. . . . We think of you as part of our family."

"I—I don't know what to say." I wipe beneath lashes, suffocating, trying to recover from this news—this new development.

"Oh, sweetie," she replies, reaching for my hand, taking it in hers, squeezing. "It's been a tough year for you."

I laugh, head nodding.

You have no idea.       

*          *          *

Genesis,

If you're reading this, something happened. 

The windshield is shrouded in snow. The engine hums, warming the cab as I wait in the Fleming's driveway, fingers numb with cold.

I don't know what, or when, or where, but I guess the details don't matter. Please don't go all postal on me: no, this isn't a mistake. It's all yours. I don't need it, and the truth is, it never felt like mine, anyway. You deserve it more than I ever did.

Don't roll your eyes. It's true and you know it.

I hope you understand why I did what I did. I hope everything makes sense now. And I hope, more than anything else, you know what I mean when I say this.

I don't regret the path I chose, or where it led me, and I don't regret a single moment I spent with you. I just feel incredibly lucky to have found you. I never doubted you for a second, Gee, and I meant what I said: You're my Rock, my Best Friend, and I want you to know that, wherever I am—whatever I'm doing—I’m
always
looking out for you.  

But then, you know that better than any of us.

Love always,

Carter

T
HIRTY-SEVEN

"Find anything?" Kitty asks.

A groan. "I'm still looking. Carter was so much better at this than me." I twist the ring on my right ring finger over and over and over again, examining tables full of brightly-colored spa baskets, photographs of exotic places—trips for two and four, artwork. Oil paintings. Sculptures. Watercolors. "It reminds me, though—when I stayed in the pool house last summer, I hung the set of photographs—the black and white ones—Carter won last year. I was wondering if I could get those from you. For the condo."

"Sure. I can bring them by the restaurant this week."

"That would be great. Thanks."

She smiles. "I have to make rounds. I'll find you in a little while."

A year ago I stood in this ballroom, in this very spot with Carter, recovering from a broken wrist—an accident that altered the course of our lives forever. I study the crowd, half expecting to see him laughing—to find him reveling in the middle of it all. Half expecting to uncover Seth hidden among tuxedos and satin, ready to sweep me away, to chase our own happily ever after.  

And even now I feel so completely and wholly alone that it's enough to steal air from my lungs. Enough to filch light from my smile. Enough to suck the spirit straight out of me. And I have to remind myself to breathe. Remind myself that I'm still here. That I'm alive. Living this moment. And somehow, it will get better, because I don't know how it could get any worse.

My eyes drift across the room to where he's standing with a group of men—Jack Fleming and Selena's father among them. He's striking, handsome as ever, even from a distance. And then, as if my thoughts were spoken aloud, he glances my way. Our eyes connect. Those piercing green eyes. He lifts his drink to his lips, watching, and my cheeks burn with heat at having been caught staring.

Luke
Castellani
.

I tear my eyes from him, focusing instead on the task at hand: finding something suitable to bid on—something that would make Carter proud.

*          *          *

It's late in the evening—nearing midnight—when I spot Luke weaving through the assembly. He slips out of ballroom doors, and, in a moment, I'm following him, pushing past the crowd. He's nearing the end of the hall by the time I reach it. I follow him anyway, pulling my shawl tighter, stepping into the cool spring breeze. Pavement rocks crunch beneath red stilettos, shattering. He slows, approaching a shiny black SUV, hands crammed deep in his pockets. I close the distance between us.

"I'm very pleased to see you, Ms. Fleming," he says. "You look lovely."

"Thank you." A thick, awkward silence descends. It's been a while. I finally clear my throat and ask: "Where are you headed?"

"Asia. My plane leaves in the morning."

"Sounds like fun."

"All business. No pleasure. I don't suppose I can entice you with a first class ticket to join me?" he teases, devious smirk brightening everything except his eyes.

A gentle smile. "No."

"I didn't think so." He exhales, as if he, too, feels the pressing ache of those lost, lonely months. "It appears you've found your place after all," he continues, changing the subject, glancing toward the clubhouse.

I follow his gaze, taking in the massive building—the porch, the columns—standing like a stately Southern mansion. "Not really. This is temporary. I'm just waiting on Mara." A tiny shrug, shoulder lifting. "She promised."

"You chose the good guys, then."

"No. I don't really believe in good and bad. That's too easy. Everyone is capable of evil. But they're capable of good, too. I just—I don't want this anymore. I can't be here. I can't pretend that this is the world I want, that this is what I want to do with the rest of my life—not when there are bigger things out there."

"You say that, though you've seen considerable success in the months since we last spoke."

What? How would he even
. . . .

My eyes narrow, accusing.

"I might have asked your former father-in-law about you," he confesses. "In passing, of course."

"Of course," I reply. A tiny laugh. "I guess. I don't know. I'm just trying to . . . fill the void. Make the days go faster." I stare into the distance, at the blue lights of the fountain, the sparkling mist carried away with the wind. "It's like, I've lost an entire year. But then, that year is everything to me, so it's hard to regret it, you know?" His eyes catch mine, solemn. "Anyway, I wanted to ask you something before you left. I'm still marked. I thought that maybe they would disappear after. . . ." I trail off, shrugging. He takes my hand in his and pushes my shawl aside, runs his fingers over vines and colors. He flips my hand over and examines my wrist—the pair of angel wings.

I turn, let the wrap drop to my waist, exposing shoulders and back. He traces the dark pathways, fingers cool against my skin.

"They won't," he says.

"So I'm stuck with them? Forever?"

"Be proud of them, Genesis. They spared you. You're the only person ever to walk the earth to have secured the favor of both sides. Nothing can harm you now."

"The
Diabols
?" I ask, facing him.

"Know not to touch you or interfere in any way. And you're heavily guarded," he adds, searching the area surrounding. "It seems the Guardians were pleased with your last-minute decision to overthrow their Council."

"They've elected new members. Mara's in charge now."

"Yet . . . there's sadness in your eyes."

"Just like yours," I point out.

"Conquering the unseen world wasn't enough for you?"

"Was it enough for you?" He laughs at this, and the sound triggers an unexpected smile, chills across my skin. Even after all that's happened, the time passed, he still has an effect on me. "It's good to see you again, Luke."

"Likewise." He touches my shoulder, fingers drifting up my neck to my chin. He studies my face as if to memorize it, a flicker of regret staining his eyes. "Take care of yourself."

"Like I have a choice," I reply, easing away from him.

He offers a quiet smile, climbs into the SUV and shuts the door, disappearing behind tinted glass.

T
HIRTY-EIGHT