Opening my small bag I haven’t used since I went to Florida, I search for my lipstick to reapply. I shift around the pack of gum and hand sanitizer, pulling the tube out before I pause and reach in for the only other thing I carry.

The missing puzzle piece.

My heart? It stops, completely resets, and I feel it, the way it isn’t totally mine anymore.

I fist the small piece, shutting my bag and grabbing Fitz’s jacket before I flee the bathroom door and trudge through the hallway down toward the door we entered.

I think about our engagement party, about the look on Fitz’s face that made me realize he had been looking for me all the time I was gone. Among the faces of old teachers and people I walked this campus with, I’m searching for that look again.

“You disappeared.” Cam comes up beside me. “We didn’t finish our conversation.”

Earlier, there wasn’t anything more important than that conversation.

But now, there isn’t anything more important than Fitz. Because the truth is, I’m not sure I can do anything more without him. He’s a piece of me, after all. He always was.

“Have you seen my husband?”

“Not since he walked out with you before,” Cam says. “Trouble at home already?”

“We aren’t done talking. Give me your number. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

I wait for him to fish his business card from his pocket before I turn, my eyes still searching for Fitz.

“Parker?” Camden waits for me to face him. “If you’re serious about this, you better be ready for war. And tell that husband of yours, I want tickets when the Rebels play the Chiefs.”

I quickly clamber away, weaving through a sea of stares as I make my way to the edge of the lawn where Agent Samuels waits on the pavement. “Have you seen Fitz?”

“Mr. Rhodes said he was taking a separate ride home. He walked to the main entrance about fifteen minutes ago,” Agent Samuels informs me.

“And you let him? He’s my husband.”

Agent Samuels begins to follow me as I make my way down the steps. “Ma’am, the President and First Lady confirmed our directive only includes you. Not Mr. Rhodes.”

I begin to pick up the pace. “Well, my directive is don’t follow me,” I snap over my shoulder before looking out at the lush grass making up the campus square that students were forbidden from crossing through, told instead to use the path.

But I’ve never been good at doing what I’m told. And I need the shortest route to get where I’m going in case there’s a chance Fitz didn’t leave.

“Ma’am—”