I meet Nicholas’s eyes, still feeling the bodyguard’s hands on my body. “Is this how you welcome all your guests?” I say.

“I don’t tend to have many guests these days,” he says.

I nod, straightening out my sweater, wrapping my arms around myself. Then Nicholas turns to Charlie.

“You know what, Charlie? I’d like some time alone with Hannah. Why don’t you enjoy a drink by the pool? And head home.”

“I’m Hannah’s ride,” he says.

“Marcus will take her where she needs to go. We’ll talk tomorrow. Yeah?”

Nicholas gives his son a final pat. Then before Charlie can say anything, as if there is anything to say, Nicholas opens the doors to his house and walks inside.

He pauses in the doorway though. He pauses in the doorway, leaving me with a choice to make. I can leave now and go home with Charlie or I can stay here alone with him.

These are my choices—stay with Nicholas and help my family or leave my family and help myself. It feels like a weird test, as if I need to be tested, as if I haven’t already gotten to the place where helping my family and helping myself have become the same thing.

“Shall we?” Nicholas says.

I can still leave here. I can still leave him. Owen’s face is in my mind. He wouldn’t want me here. Grady’s face. Go. Go. Go. My heart races in my chest so loudly that I’m sure Nicholas can hear it. Even if he can’t, I’m sure he can feel it—the tension coming off me.

There is a moment when you realize you are out of your depth. This is mine.

The dogs stare up at Nicholas. Everyone stares at Nicholas, including me.

Until I move in the only direction I can. Toward him.

“After you,” I say.

Two Years Ago

“Bailey, I love your dress,” I said.

We were in Los Angeles, having dinner at Felix, in Venice. I was working with a client on her house in the Venice Canals and Owen thought it would be a perfect opportunity for Bailey and me to spend some time together. This was probably the eighth time we’d met, but usually she tried to get out of doing more than just having a meal together. Usually, it wasn’t the three of us for a whole weekend. We took her to see Dudamel at The Hollywood Bowl, which she loved. And now we were having dinner at the best Italian restaurant in Los Angeles, which she also loved. The only thing she didn’t love? Doing it all with me there.

“That shade of blue looks so pretty on you,” I said.

She didn’t answer, didn’t even offer a rote head shrug. She ignored me, downing some of her Italian soda.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said.