She had other friends at school, like Ivan and Keltie, but they wouldn’t understand the mess she was in, would be repelled by it. Her only confidant was Oleg, the driver. Despite his muscular, menacing aspect, despite the weapon kept casually in his glove box, Nat had developed a rapport with him as he’d shuttled her to and from her liaisons with his employer. Tuesday night, after a quick drink downtown with Gabe, she vented to her chauffeur.

“I told Cole I have a gun. I told him to stay away from me. But still . . . he came to my school. He’s obsessed with me.”

Oleg’s voice was level, his eyes on the road. “If you really think he’s dangerous, you should learn to use the pistol.”

The alcohol in her stomach churned at the suggestion. Nat could never shoot someone, not even Cole. While her ex-boyfriend’s presence filled her with anxiety, her rational mind knew he wouldn’t really hurt her. Not physically anyway. He would probably scream at her, humiliate her, publicly disparage her. Or he might be more devious. He might watch and wait and gather evidence—of her relationship with Gabe, of their financial arrangement. And with that, he could ruin her.

“I’ll think about it,” she muttered.

She had reported the Cole sighting to her mother.

“Maybe you should come home,” Allana said, sounding shaken.

“How would that solve anything?” Nat responded. “He’ll just come back to Blaine and harass me there.”

“You’re right. . . . Have you called the police?”

“And say what? My ex-boyfriend stared at me from across the street?” She was being snarky, and she knew it. But she couldn’t seem to stop it.

The line was quiet for a moment. “Do you have any male friends who could protect you? Do you . . . have a boyfriend?”

Her mom’s reticence to delve into her daughter’s private life articulated the distance between them. If things had been different, her mom would have known everything that was going on in Nat’s life. They had been so close. But now, Allana’s new family came first.

“I can protect myself,” Nat said, her voice hoarse with repressed emotion.

She heard her mother’s deep intake of breath. “I’ll call Trish again.” Trish was Cole’s rather domineering mother. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I love you, Natalie. You’ll get through this.”

The week progressed without another Cole sighting. That didn’t mean he wasn’t lurking, watching, planning a way to get to her. Her mom informed her, via e-mail, that Trish Doberinsky was worried about her son, felt he was more destructive to himself than anyone else. But Nat wasn’t so sure. She went to school, tried to focus, but she was distracted, on edge. Much like her friend, Ava. The girl’s pretty face was back to normal, but her spirit was not. Ava had taken to scurrying home between classes, skipping more of them than was acceptable for a decent GPA. Nat understood the temptation to hide away. At times, she wanted to hole up in her chaotic Brooklyn bedroom, where she knew Cole could not find her. But she couldn’t risk her scholarship money. Even with her new allowance, tuition would be out of reach on her own.