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Chapters (82)
  1. Cover
  2. ALSO BY JAMIE BRENNER
  3. PART ONE
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. PART TWO
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. PART THREE
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. Acknowledgments
  81. About the Author
  82. What’s next onyour reading list?

She adjusted to the fresh darkness, the moonlight off the bay giving her enough light to see the expression in his eyes. As she tried to decipher it, he looked away, out at the water. She stared at his profile, taking in the curve of his cheek and the line of his jaw. She could feel the stubble against her neck, against her breasts. Her eyes lowered to look at his hands, remembering what they could do to her.

“Sanjay,” she said quietly. He turned toward her, and she leaned forward, kissing him. For a second, he didn’t move. The sound of the water seemed to roar in her ears, her heart pounding so hard she felt it might burst. Sanjay touched her face, tentatively at first, then cradling her jaw, kissing her hard. The feel and smell of him was like a homecoming. The kiss deepened, and she felt instantly sober. Her body was on fire, but her mind was clear: It wasn’t over between them. Not by a long shot.

She pulled back just long enough to catch her breath. He jumped to his feet.

“I can’t do this, Gemma,” he said. “I’m seeing someone.”

38

Gemma turned on the overhead light and it flickered once before illuminating her workbench. She didn’t know how long Celeste would let her keep her things set up, but she intended to make use of it for as long as possible. Work was all she had.

I’m seeing someone.

She set the pieces she’d bought at the estate sale onto the table, contemplating the copper butterfly brooch first. The best strategy for turning it into a pendant would be to drill a small hole near the top, feed a hook-topped wire through it, and then bridge that wire with a simple loop.

Gemma picked through her supply of hooks, clasps, and wire until she found something that would do the trick. Then she picked up the Dremel, attached a fine drill bit, and sat at the spot at the end of the table.

Wielding the tool felt powerful. She might have lost Sanjay, but at least in this one small way she could control something. She could bend and shape metal. She could drill a hole. She could create. Jewelry was about transformation. Maybe that’s why Gemma found it so satisfying. It was easier to change base metals into something beautiful than fix something in real life.

If the average person saw a diamond before it was cut and polished, they’d never dream of spending a dime on it. And metals transformed even more dramatically: Metal didn’t just become more beautiful, it became functional. Stainless steel could become a necklace chain, a watch band. Plated, the appearance of the metal itself changed to gold. She always loved the idea that metal could appear like something it wasn’t.